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

by Ws Greer

  The second I step out, Trent is standing in the doorway of the bedroom staring at me. He looks so handsome in a white button-up and black slacks, with his hair actually combed instead of hanging loosely. It’s been a while since I've seen him clean up, so it’s nice to see. What isn't nice to see is the look on his face as he inspects me from bottom to top without speaking. I find myself breathing hard as I become more anxious.

  “Umm, that’s a …” Trent begins, searching for the words as he frowns and rubs his face. “You’ve got a lot showing, don't you think?”

  I swallow hard and walk over to him. We embrace, and I wrap my arms around his waist while he looks down at me.

  “Sweetie, I want to look good for you,” I tell him, hoping he can grasp some understanding of this without us having to fight over it. “I like looking sexy for you. It’s for you, Trent. I’m yours, and you're mine. When we go out, it doesn't matter who stares, because no matter what anybody says or does, I’m going home with you. I love you, and I want to look good for you. You look so amazing and handsome, and I want to look good standing next to you. Is that okay? Can we go get something to eat without arguing? Please?”

  Trent takes a moment to look me over once again. His eyes drop to my bare feet before slowly climbing up my body and pausing on my tits again. They linger there before he’s able to look me in the eye.

  “All right,” he mumbles, and I can hear the reluctance in his voice before he clears his throat. “Yeah … all right. Let’s go eat.”

  Chapter 25

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  There aren't many restaurants in Dover I would consider fancy. Fancy in Dover is basically any place you can dine-in—Red Robin, Applebee’s, or Ruby Tuesday, which is actually in Milford, not Dover. The fanciest restaurant in Dover is called Longhorn Steakhouse. It’s a nice place with calm lighting and well-seasoned food for a steep price, although I still use the word fancy loosely. Longhorn is where Trent and I decide will be our destination, and the moment Trent puts the truck in park after a quiet ride over, the tension between us builds before we can even open the doors.

  “You ready?” I ask as I look over at him. He’s tapping the steering wheel with his fingers like he’s trying to play a beat, before stopping and twisting his mouth to the side and looking over at me. He tries to fight it, but he can't help his eyes falling down to my tits for a quick second before bouncing back up to my face.

  “Trent—” I groan, but he opens his door before I can finish the complaint.

  “Let’s go,” he snips as he climbs out of the truck and closes the door, leaving me inside by myself. Something in me hopes he’ll come around to my side of the truck and open my door for me. I watch him start walking, still hanging onto the hope that my husband is about to be romantic, but hope vanishes into thin air when Trent keeps on walking. He strides past my side of the truck as if I’m not even here with him, and plants himself at the entrance of the building before looking back at me, his eyes screaming for me to hurry up.

  “Wow, how romantic and chivalrous,” I mumble under my breath as I undo my seatbelt and climb out of the truck. I feel like an idiot for some reason as I walk over to my husband with tension taking hold in my face.

  “You couldn't have waited for me?” I ask when I reach Trent, who puts his hand on the long bar of the door and pulls it open for me.

  “I did wait for you—right here,” he replies dryly.

  Cool. We’re off to a great start.

  Inside Longhorn Steakhouse, the lighting is low and the seats are full. It’s busy tonight, and all I see is happy Americans eating their food and enjoying conversation. To the left of us is the waiting area, where a couple with a small child sits, talking amongst themselves while they wait to be seated by one of the servers standing behind a wooden podium in front of us. To me, this is an average scene that doesn't spark any emotions in me whatsoever. Trent, on the other hand, must see something completely different.

  We approach the podium together, and Trent gives the young Black woman behind it our names. She responds by writing it down and handing us an odd-shaped white and black device with a blinking red light on the top, which will vibrate when our table is ready. Trent takes the device and the two of us walk into the waiting area, where we sit on the long bench that looks out into the dining area. Once we’re seated, I turn to speak to Trent—you know, like a normal person—and I instantly see him scowling. He stares into the dining area like he just spotted his worst enemy.

  “Geez, what's the matter?” I ask, my face mirroring his against my will.

  “Nothing,” Trent growls. “Just thought I saw … it's nothing.”

  “Are you sure? You look pissed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He's far from fine, and it suddenly feels like what was supposed to be a good time has already been taken hostage by Trent’s attitude. I look out into the dining area to see if there’s anything glaring, but all I see is people minding their own business and enjoying their food. Whatever Trent saw isn't obvious to me.

  After only a few minutes, the little device in Trent’s hand starts to vibrate. I have half a mind to make a joke about the vibrator, but Trent’s mood kills it before it has a chance to come out of my mouth, and I end up following the young woman guiding us to our table without saying anything. As I walk behind Trent, his head is on a swivel, looking right to left over and over again as if searching for something. Once we’re seated, I assume he didn't find whatever he was looking for, because his focus is solely on the menu.

  The two of us silently browse the laminated pages of the menu for a couple of minutes without talking. It doesn't take me long to find what I’ll eat, but it’s not the food my brain focuses on. The way Trent left the truck and came into the restaurant with an attitude combined with the silence between us now just reminds me that we’re not actually better than we have been over the past few days. We came out tonight to make things better and celebrate our moving past the bullshit. However, we’re still sitting here without speaking to each other. Hell, we’re barely even looking at each other. Since Trent chose his entrée and put his menu on the table, he hasn't looked at me once. He’s too focused on scanning the room, searching for people to glare at.

  “Sooo …” I start, dragging it out. “Are we going to actually enjoy this evening, or are you hoping to start a fight with a random stranger for some reason only known to you?”

  Trent scoffs. “Well, it’s hard to enjoy the evening when every guy in the place is staring at my wife.”

  I look around to confirm, and sure enough, absolutely no one is staring at me.

  “Trent, nobody is looking over here.”

  “Yes, they are,” he rebuts, and his emotions are starting to take over even though nothing has happened. “I've caught three of four guys looking at you already, and I’m sick of it, so you'll have to excuse me if I look like I’m not having a great time, Kim.”

  “Sweetheart, just calm down,” I say, trying my absolute hardest to pacify him. I don't want to do this. I don't want to fight, but it’s like he wants it to happen, and I’m starting to feel like I’m at my wits’ end. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner. Fuck everybody else.”

  “You want to do what?” Trent says with large eyes.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Just … nothing,” he says. “Don’t tell me to calm down, Kim. You're the one who dragged me out of the house with your tits on full display. How do you expect me to act?”

  “How about like you've got some goddamn sense,” I fire back, and out of my peripheral vision, I see the woman sitting next to us turn her head in our direction. Great. We’ve started drawing the attention of strangers.

  “Whatever. This is your fault—” Trent starts again, but he’s cut off when the waiter approaches our table.

  “Hi, my name is Will, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” the man says, and when I look up at him, I already know Trent is going to feel some type of way
about this. Will is about five-nine, at least two hundred and fifteen pounds of thick muscle and broad shoulders, with beautiful brown skin, closely buzzed hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. I admit it, he’s good-looking. It means absolutely nothing to me, but I'm not blind. However, this isn't the first attractive man I’ve seen since I married Trent, so I do like I always do, and completely ignore the fact that our waiter is very handsome. Who cares? Well, the answer to that question is … Trent. Trent definitely cares.

  “Would you like to start off with something to drink?” Our waiter asks, and Trent glares at him.

  “Get me a Bud Light,” Trent says, and it does not come out as a request. It’s a demand, and I don't like the look on Trent’s face as he glares at the waiter. Will, however, ignores it all and turns to me.

  “And you, ma’am?” he asks, flashing a smile.

  “Umm, can I get a strawberry lemonade, please?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your order.”

  “Great, thank you,” I reply with a smile of my own. Once the waiter is gone, I look back at Trent, and he is fuming.

  “So, you're just going to flirt with our waiter right in front of me?” he asks, snarling.

  “What? I wasn't flirting with him. Are you kidding me? All I did was tell him what I wanted to drink and say thank you, which is better than your superior attitude when you ordered. What has gotten into you?”

  “You!” Trent barks, and it definitely draws more than a few eyes over. “I'm not going to just sit here and take this. This is bullshit. I can't believe you.”

  “Jesus, keep your voice down,” I scream whisper, but it’s no use.

  “Don't tell me what to do with my own voice, goddamn it.”

  Trent’s voice is a booming one, even when he’s not upset, so when he gets angry, it carries even more. Every table around us is now gawking, and before I can put on a fake smile to act like everything is fine, a heavy-set brunette with a white shirt and black pants approaches our table.

  “Excuse me. I’m the manager here. Is everything all right?” she asks, looking directly at Trent.

  “No, it’s not all right,” Trent answers with fire in his voice. “I’m sitting here trying to enjoy an evening out with my wife, and your Black waiter comes over to the table and starts staring at my wife’s tits right in front of me.”

  “Trent!” I shout, and it comes out so loud I expect to hear an echo. “That absolutely is not true!”

  “Oh, it’s not?” Trent shouts, and now we have the attention of every person in the restaurant. “So, you're going to defend him over me? A stranger over your own husband? Really, Kim? So, then you were flirting with him.”

  “Oh my god, no I wasn't.” The rageful tears sting my eyes as I stand up. I don't even want to continue the conversation. I’m just embarrassed and want to disappear.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” the manager says to us both, but she's only glaring at my husband.

  Without hesitation, I do as I’m asked and dart for the exit, leaving Trent behind the same way he left me in the truck. Before I reach the door, I see our waiter standing off to the side holding our drinks. He’s frozen in place and looks both hurt and livid at the same time.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say as I walk past him and push through the doors, and I don't have a single thought of waiting for Trent. I’m too embarrassed to care, and too fed up to keep acting like everything is okay. Tonight, I’ve realized the truth. My husband is an asshole.

  Chapter 26

  ~ KIMBERLY ~

  “What in the absolute fuck has gotten into you?” My voice is harsh, my mood is irked, and my heart is heavy as we drive down the highway toward our home. I can't even believe everything that just happened back there. Trent seems to have lost his fucking mind, and when I look at him now, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

  Sitting next to me, Trent is still fuming. He’s lost all of that handsomeness I saw when I stepped out of the bathroom. He may as well be wearing rags now, because even if he was the wealthiest man in the world, he is poor in his attitude.

  “Nothing has gotten into me. What’s gotten into you?” Trent shoots back as if trying to take an eye for an eye. “I can't believe you’d even have the audacity to ask what’s gotten into me. Look at yourself. Look down at what you're wearing, and then ask yourself what the fuck has gotten into you. I’m good. You're the one who’s losing it.”

  “I’m so fucking tired of having this conversation with you about my goddamn clothes. Why are you so obsessed with what I wear? There’s no reason whatsoever for you to act this way.”

  “No reason?” Trent says, nearly screaming as he runs right through a stop sign as if it’s not even there. “No fucking reason? Look at the way you're dressed! Look at the way you're always dressed. How about that guy who hit on you while we were at work last week? How about that, Kim? How about the guys I saw staring at your tits today?”

  “Nobody was staring at me, Trent. That was all in your head. You lost your mind in that restaurant and embarrassed both of us. And what did the waiter’s race have to do with any of it?”

  “What? Nothing. What are you talking about?” Trent pulls into our driveway and shuts the engine off, making our argument that much louder now that we’re not being drowned out by the rumble of the motor.

  “You said the waiter was Black,” I remind him.

  “He was Black.”

  “So? Why did you have to mention that to the manager as if it has some bearing on the situation?”

  “Oh please, Kim, it wasn’t like that, and you know it. The only person who thought anything of it was you, because you're so sensitive.”

  “You can miss me with that sensitive crap. I’m not some soft, sensitive, emotional woman who cries over everything. I care about people’s feelings, and I saw the look on the waiter’s face when I walked out. He was deeply offended. I feel like I barely even know you anymore.” I pop my door open and step out of the truck. Trent follows me and I turn to him as soon as he slams his door shut. “How about you leaving me in the truck when we first got there? You got out and walked away, leaving me in the truck all by myself. It was like we weren’t even together. “

  I start walking towards the house and can feel Trent following closely behind me, his toes nearly clipping my heels.

  “Well excuse the hell outta me for being upset at the amount of cleavage my wife shows,” Trent says, and I’m surprised at how he could say it without understanding how ridiculous it sounds. He almost sounds arrogant, as if I’m really the one in the wrong.

  “So you left me in the truck and let me approach the restaurant by myself because you were mad about my clothes? Is that right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  I’m so stunned, all I can do is look at him with a frown on my face as he opens the door and we walk inside. Once our front door is closed, both of us walk into the living room and flick on lamps resting on top of wooden end tables. The light shines on our faces and I can see the angry expression on Trent’s. He glares at me as if he doesn't love me right now, and my natural instinct is to show him the same look, so the two of us stare at each other like we’re ready to come to blows. We’re officially in the most ridiculous place we’ve ever been.

  “Trent, listen to me—“ I start, trying to calm myself down, but he cuts me off.

  “No, you listen. I don't like this new version of you,” he growls. “You wanted to go to that goddamn, arrogant therapist a couple of weeks back. I knew he would get into your head, which is why I forbid us to go back, but it looks like I was too late, because you’ve been different ever since you met that asshole know-it-all. You're my wife, and you should dress appropriately. I shouldn’t have to spend all of my time being stressed and worried about what you're wearing. This is not fair to me.”

  “Not fair to you? You’ve got to be kidding me. You're literally trying to dictate what clothes I can and can't we
ar. I’m a grown fucking woman. You're telling me you're stressed and worried about guys looking at me as if I've done something untrustworthy in the past. I have never cheated on you, or even entertained the idea, but you’ve got it in your head that I’m some terrible person who’s just ready to jump on the next dick I see. I've been nothing but faithful to you. Why don't you trust me?”

  Trent slams himself down on the couch and lets out an immature huff as he crosses his arms like a petulant child. I’m seeing a whole new side of him today, and I can't fucking stand it. Who the hell is this guy? Is this who he has always been? He’s been hiding this crap from me since the day we met, and he could no longer hold it in. Now that the seams have split apart, the real Trent is bursting through, and he can't stop it now. The wheels are falling completely off.

  “Kim, I don't trust you because … I just don't. I don't know why,” he admits. “My father told me to never trust a beautiful woman, and maybe that's why I have issues with it. I can’t explain it, but I know how I want my wife to act, and this isn't it. I need a wife who supports me, and acts the way a wife should. I mean, don't you care about me? Don’t care about how I feel. I thought you loved me, Kim.”

  “I do love you,” I say, but I’m too upset to be pulled into this game where we argue, and Trent suddenly switches gears to make me feel bad for him. I’m tired of it. “I care about you, but we’re supposed to be partners in this. It seems to me all you want to do is control me. I don't like that.”