Toxic (The Therapist #4): An Alpha Male, Relationship Coach, Erotic Romance

by Ws Greer

  “Hi.” He greets me with a smile that’s warm and full of confidence.

  “Hi,” I respond before turning back around, assuming the greeting is both the beginning and end of the conversation.

  “Not to be creepy or anything,” the guy says, spinning me around again. “You're the finest construction worker I've ever seen.”

  I’m not sure how to respond. He gave me a compliment, which was really sweet, and he has no idea I’m married to one of the men fixing the lane ahead. I’m not rude, so I don't flip out over being hit on. I simply smile and say, “Thank you,” before turning around.

  “What's your name?” he asks, just as my fellow flagger gives me the signal to flip the sign and let traffic proceed from my side.

  “Kim,” I say over my shoulder as I flip the sign to Slow, but the man doesn't move.

  “I know I gotta go,” the guy says just as the car behind him blows the horn, drawing the crew’s attention. “But can I get your number? If you're this fine dressed for construction, I can only imagine how gorgeous you are in regular clothes.”

  “I’m sorry but you have to go. You're blocking traffic,” I tell him. I look into the window of the car behind him and see an old woman is already fuming.

  “I’ll go, just let me get your number before you get me into trouble with that old lady back there,” he says, trying his best to be cute.

  “Sir, please go. You're blocking traffic, and I’m mar—”

  “You hitting on my wife?” Trent’s voice cuts through like a razor blade. I spin around to find my husband foaming at the mouth with rage as he speed walks over to the red Nissan.

  “Oh, this is your wife?” the man in uniform asks. He looks completely caught off guard. “Oh, my bad.”

  “Yeah, your fucking bad, asshole,” Trent blares as he steps up to the red car and kicks the driver’s door.

  “Oh shit, Trent,” I exclaim. I drop my sign and try to grab my husband, but he’s furious.

  “Get the fuck outta here before I beat the shit out of you!” Trent barks.

  “Yo, what the fuck, man!” the guy in the car bellows, in complete and utter shock at Trent’s hostility.

  “Fuck you!” Trent yells, just as Sam and the rest of the crew reach us and pull Trent back.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir,” Sam tells the confused driver. “Your vehicle isn't damaged. If you'd like to call and file a complaint, please call our main office in Dover. We’re from Lane Contracting. For now, can you please move your vehicle so we don't hold up traffic. I apologize on behalf of my guy. I’m very sorry.”

  As the crew pulls Trent away, the man in the car stares at him, torn between anger and bewilderment.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say when his eyes find me.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It’s cool. Y’all need to get that motherfucker under control. He’s lucky he didn't dent my car.”

  “Again, sir, I apologize,” Sam says as the old woman blows her horn again.

  “Right,” the man mumbles as he finally presses the gas and drives away, staring at Trent the entire time. Sam and the crew form a huddle around Trent as traffic slowly clears and I pick up my sign.

  I can't believe what just happened. Why would he act like that? He literally didn't even give me a chance to tell the guy I was married before losing his shit, and I can only imagine what kind of shit I’m going to hear when we get home.

  As I reposition myself in the road and the crew goes back to work, I catch a glimpse of Trent glaring at me. He looks livid, but I break eye contact as I flip my sign and focus on an approaching car. When I turn around to find Trent again, he’s out of view.

  I swallow hard, and try to focus on the countdown until I have to flip the sign again.

  Chapter 8

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  There isn't a word spoken between us for the rest of the day—not even on the ride home from work. Trent is silent, but I can feel the heat emanating off of him. If it were cold outside, steam would rise from his flesh. He’s mad as hell over the man in the car, and I'd love to ask him exactly why, but I don't feel like hearing the answer right now. So, I soak up the silence. I let it wash over me and keep me calm as we drive toward the apartment.

  Once we’re home, I step over the threshold first, and hear the door slam shut behind me after Trent walks in. I spin around and find him glaring at me. Tension is all over his face as his muscles look cramped tight around his mouth, and his dark brown eyes hold me in place.

  “I can't believe you,” he snarls, still next to the door like he couldn't take another step inside without letting his frustration out.

  “What? Can't believe me?” I ask, pointing at myself. “How is it possible you're blaming me for what happened today?”

  “How is it possible? That guy hit on you, Kim.” He takes a step forward as he grimaces over the memory in his head. “You let a stranger pull up next to you and ask you for your phone number. I heard him. We all did. Everybody on the crew heard him hitting on you, and you didn't even tell him you were married. You fucking embarrassed me. Again.”

  “You didn't give me a chance to tell him! Before the words could even come out of my mouth, there you were trying to prove how big and bad you are by kicking his car.”

  “Oh, so you were gonna tell him!” he states, mocking me as if he knows I’m lying.

  “Yes, Trent, I was. It was halfway out of my mouth before you came over.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Kim!” he barks, throwing his arms up in disbelief. “You fucking liked it. You loved it!”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You love when guys hit on you. It makes you feel good. I bet it just lights up your entire day every time it happens, and I know it happens all the time because you’re always showing off your big ol’ tits and flashing that flirtatious smile. You love the attention you get. Meanwhile, nothing like that ever happens to me. You know why?”

  “Because you're always snarling?”

  “Oh, very fucking funny. No! It's because I act like a person who is happily married! I walk and talk like a person who’s proud to have a ring on their finger, while you act like a whore who doesn't even have a ring.”

  “What the fuck? A whore?” Now my hands whip up into the air.

  “Yeah, a whore!” Trent surges forward without a care in the world. “You act like a whore, Kim, and I’m sick of being embarrassed by it. First, all of the guys at work all wanted a piece of you, and you were just lapping it up. You loved all the attention you got when Sam hired you. I know you did.”

  “Trent, you're ridiculous,” I say, stepping toward him. “The only person whose attention I wanted was yours. You're the only person at our job I’ve ever been interested in, and I don't know what else you want from me. I told you I can't help that I have big tits. What do you want me to do? Cut them off?” Trent’s eyes flash over to me, but I stop him before he can say anything else. “Well, I’m not getting a fucking breast reduction, so you can forget about that.”

  Trent’s glare quickly shifts into a look of sorrow. “What? So, you can see me this upset and still say you wouldn't do anything to change?”

  “To change what?”

  “How much attention you get. You just said you wouldn't get a breast reduction, so now I know you care more about the attention your tits get you than you do about how much it hurts me. I see it now. Wow. I thought you loved me, but it’s apparent what you really love—the attention.”

  All of Trent’s anger leaks out onto the floor, replaced by an obvious sadness as he walks over to the couch and sits down. He places his hands over his face and exhales, and I can tell he’s really upset. Trent isn't one to act sad. He’s a tough guy, so to see him this way lets me know I’ve really pissed him off. I’ve done it again.

  My steps over to him are slow as the weight of the moment presses down on me. I didn't mean to make him upset. I just sometimes wonder if I have any control over what other people say or do. I’m trying not
to show any cleavage, but Trent still gets upset, and that makes me sad. Hurting him hurts me.

  “Trent,” I say, placing my hands on his shoulders before sitting on his knee. He keeps his face hidden by his hands while I talk to him. “Honey, I’m sorry. I don't want to fight with you, and you know I love you more than anything in the world. I’m not out there looking for attention from anyone, and if you asked me to get a breast reduction, I would.”

  Trent slides his hands down so I can see his beautiful eyes. “You would?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I fucking love you, Trent. You're my husband. I’d do anything for you.”

  Trent finally smiles, and it feels so good to see any semblance of happiness on his face. I smile, too. No matter how hard I fight it, Trent’s smile always puts one on my face. See? We’re made for each other.

  “I love you, too,” Trent replies. “I hope I didn't scare you out there today. I was just so mad when I saw that guy talking to you. I hated him. You're my fucking wife, Kim, and you belong to me. All of you is mine. I own every part of you, and I refuse to let another man have you. So, the next time some guy tries to hit on you, you either punch him in the face or come get me so I can do it. I won't stand for anything less. Sorry if that sounds crazy to you, but maybe my love for you makes me crazy.”

  My smile doesn't dissipate a bit. “It doesn't sound crazy to me. It sounds like you love me, and I’m not scared of your love. In fact, now that it’s over, the whole thing was a pretty big turn on.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Seeing you all fired up over some idiot trying to get in my pants. It makes me hot, because the only person who can get in these pants is you.”

  “You got that fucking right.” Trent leans forward and kisses me, and my body is overtaken by heat. “Because you're mine. Right?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  “That’s right,” Trent says as he lifts us up off the couch, spins me around, and lays me down on my back on the floor. “All fucking mine, and I’m about to remind you who all of this belongs to.”

  As Trent kisses me and reaches down to unfasten my pants, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m so glad we’re about to fuck instead of about to fight, and when I feel his cock in my hands, it makes me that much more eager.

  I guess this is the way it works. We fight, then we fuck. This is our process, and as long as he loves me at the end of the day, I’m okay with that. I know his love for me is his driving force. He is protective of me because he loves me, and I accept it because I love him. It’s as simple as that. I want us to be able to stop fighting so much, which is why we’ll keep seeing Dr. Colson, but nothing can replace the feeling of being loved. Nothing.

  HEAT

  Chapter 9

  ~ MALCOLM ~

  “You know what I’ve always wanted to do? Jump out of an airplane.”

  “What? Oh, hell no!”

  Evelyn and I burst into laughter. The two of us sit on my couch with our feet up, watching Netflix. Well, Netflix is on the TV, but we’re doing more talking than watching. Two wine glasses rest on the coffee table, and the room feels more comfortable tonight. The house feels warmer, more serene, more relaxed—happier. I’m happier.

  “What, you wouldn't go skydiving? Not even if I asked you to?” Evelyn asks me, her mouth curled into a beautiful smile that makes my heart leap. She’s dressed down tonight, rocking a plain navy blue T-shirt and Jeggings. Her hair is free-falling down her back in loose red waves, and her porcelain skin is glowing with beauty. She’s flawless even when her look is effortless, and I feel lucky to even be sitting next to her.

  “Umm, look, you're awesome and all,” I start, a smile already pulling at the sides of my mouth. “But there's no way in hell I’m about to jump out of a plane and fall to my death, all while knowing I’m falling to my death. No way. Not even for you and all your sexiness.”

  Evelyn laughs, and I feel a sense of having accomplished my mission of trying to put another smile on her face.

  “You'd have a parachute,” she says behind a giggle.

  “But would I have a parachute?”

  “What? Of course you would.”

  “Would I though? Because if your parachute doesn't open for any reason, now you don't have a parachute. All you have now is a blanket you can't even wrap yourself up in for comfort as you plummet to your death. Nope. Can't do it.”

  “Oh geez. Chicken. What about bungee jumping?”

  “So, you think I’d like to hop off of a platform with nothing more than a Slinky duct taped to my back? That’s how little you think of me?”

  “A Slinky?” Evelyn lets out a full belly laugh as she falls over onto the couch.

  She’s so fucking adorable it makes my stomach ache, and I realize in this moment that my favorite part of Evelyn has nothing to do with sex at all. I’m not obsessed with some part of her body either. It’s her laugh that has me hooked. I can't get enough of that sound or the smile that controls her face when she lets loose and laughs at something I’ve said. I could watch it all day.

  Evelyn and I have been dating over three months now. I’ve dated women in the past for longer periods of time, but this first one hundred days with Evelyn has been magical. It sounds funny coming from me, but Evelyn and I connect on a deeper level than just sex. Hell, we haven’t even ventured down into the Black House yet, and I still feel a sense of satisfaction with her that I was never able to reach with Ava. With Evelyn I feel fulfilled.

  It probably has a lot to do with the fact that we’re colleagues. It’s a connection that’s nearly impossible to come across, because you're not going to find another therapist who looks anything like Evelyn Monroe. Not even close. So, with Evelyn, luck just happened to be on my side. I just happened to be going through shit with Ava, and I just happened to need a little extra help with getting over the usual bullshit that comes with only having a physical connection with someone. I just happened, by chance, to find Evelyn and choose her as my therapist.

  Evelyn just so happened to be a divorcée who consistently struggled to find someone who could relate to her and put up with the amount of time she’d have to give her patients. Because I’m a therapist too, she will never get flack from me for giving her patients the attention they need. I want her time, but I understand she has a job she loves and people who need her help. I get it. I get her. We get each other, and that's why the last one hundred days don't even seem real.

  As these thoughts speed across my mind like subtitles, I recognize I’m not in love with Evelyn. This isn't the night I’ll turn to her and confess how deeply in love with her I am. However, what I feel for Evelyn, I haven't felt before. I’ve never been in love before, which means I’ve never felt what the beginning of it is like. All I know is my feelings for Evelyn are insanely strong, and something brand new for me. Is this what love feels like in its infancy? Maybe. I’ve moved past the infatuation stage and am now lost in a realm of the unknown, where I don't know how I feel at all. All I know is I like it. I like her. I like us.

  “A bungee cord is nothing more than a big ass Slinky,” I go on, enjoying every moment I get to watch Evelyn smiling.

  “Oh, my god, that’s not true,” she fires back as she sits up. “Okay, so you're just afraid of everything?”

  “I’m not afraid of everything.”

  “Have you ridden a roller coaster?”

  “Yeah. I went to Fiesta Texas once when I was a kid, and I rode the hell out of those roller coasters.”

  “Okay, have you ridden a horse?”

  “No.”

  “Have you gone zip lining?”

  “No, but I would. I’ve always wanted to do the one in Vegas, but haven't gotten the chance. I’m down for it, though.”

  “Okay, how about snorkeling?” she asks.

  “I have. I actually spent some time in Guam when I was in college, and some friends and I went snorkeling. It was beautiful.”

  “
Oh, wow, Guam. That’s exciting. I heard you could go cliff diving there. Did you do that?”

  “What? Evelyn, let me ask you a serious question right now? Lean in close, because this is important.” Evelyn leans forward and looks into my eyes. “Do I look like the type of guy who wants to slide his face down a bunch of rocks while falling to his death?” She starts giggling as I go on. “Do I look like I want to tumble down a mountain side … but on purpose? Do I look like I’d like to smack my head, feet, and ass against a cliff?”

  “Oh, my god, what are you talking about?” she asks as she laughs. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Yes it is. That’s exactly how it is. One slip and—”

  My words are interrupted by an explosion of glass shattering into the house. The sound comes first, followed by millions of tiny shards shooting in our direction. Evelyn screams as I jump up to cover her, but just as fast as the noise came, it’s replaced by silence.

  “What the fuck?” I mumble as I look around the room and see glass on the floor. I let Evelyn go and stand up to get a better view, and that’s when I see a fairly large rock on the floor by the fireplace.

  “Is that a rock? Did someone just throw a rock in here?” Evelyn asks, and I’m pretty sure we both think the same thing at the same time.

  We jump off the couch and dart toward the window where the rock came in, only to find darkness looking back at us. There's no one there, so we run to the back door and snatch it open. Again, nothing.

  “Check the front,” Evelyn says, and both of us run to the front door. Again, we find nothing but an empty street and the shine of orange streetlights. I even walk to the end of my driveway and look around. Nothing.

  Once we get back inside, Evelyn decides to call the police, because even without seeing anyone outside, we both know who this was. It couldn't be any more obvious. The window the rock came through is the same window Ava used to use to sneak into my house. She was here, and she was watching us.