Bill’s gaze snaps back to me, and this time it sticks. He straightens his back as he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Dr. Bill Roy. And you are?”
I take pleasure in the realization that I’m almost half a head taller than Bill, even when he stretches himself to his full height.
“I’m the one with whom Ellie’ll be practicing her formidable flying skills.”
Ellie rolls her eyes at me, clearly unappreciative of my cockiness, then she pivots to Bill. “Bill, this is Wyatt Harrison. My new client.”
“—and friend,” I interject.
“My brother’s friend, yes,” Ellie corrects.
“In all cases, Ellie and I go way back,” I add with a bright grin, ignoring the scrutinizing glance my phrase earns me from Ellie.
I don’t know why I’m behaving this childish and territorial. It must be Bill’s all-American smirk. It’s too shiny. Almost as if he has too many teeth flashing all at once.
Bill observes me with narrowed eyes, then suddenly his face illuminates. “Wyatt Harrison? You’re the Kites’ quarterback!” He extends his hand to me with an enthusiastic bling-bling grin.
I shake it. “I am. Nice to meet you.”
Bill’s blue eyes are now entirely focused on me. “I can’t believe this. I’m a huge fan. In my fantasy football team, I always aim to draft you, together with Morrison and Gurnard.”
Ellie, as if she’s somehow bothered by the doc’s attention on me, chimes in, “And Bill is the department head of our Eating Disorder Unit. The youngest one in the whole clinic. He’s incredible with his patients.”
My stomach tightens at the over-the-top smile she throws in Bill’s direction.
“I try my best.” Bill nods and beams back at Ellie. “So, about that coffee? When would it suit you?”
Ellie tilts her head and draws in a breath, but I anticipate her.
“Listen, Bill,” I say, “any chance you’d like to pick my brain about your game strategy?”
Bill’s jaw drops. “That would be awesome. I’m sure I’d smash my opponents if you coached me.”
I ignore Ellie’s suspicious frown and add, “Then perhaps I should join you during this celebratory coffee?”
Ellie’s eyes widen, and the hostility flashing in them isn’t easy to miss.
She must be wondering why I made this ridiculous offer. If I’m honest, part of me is doing the same. Bill’s invite wasn’t meant as a friendly get-together with Ellie. He wanted her on a date.
So why did I interfere?
I tell myself it’s because I worry Ellie might get distracted from my therapy if she’s daydreaming about Mr. Perfect Smile. But I sense it isn’t the entire truth.
Before Bill can answer, Ellie touches his arm. “Actually, why don’t we trade our coffee for a nice dinner?” She turns to me and gives me an overly sweet smile. “That doesn’t mean you and Bill can’t get together and chat about football.”
Why couldn’t I just keep my big mouth shut?
The corners of Bill’s mouth jump to his ears as he peers down at Ellie. “Oh, I’d love to have dinner with you.” Then to me, he says, “And I’d be thrilled to hear your tips over a coffee or a beer. Your choice.”
How marvelous. I just made Bill the happiest man on earth. Hallelujah.
“Sure. We’ll do that sometime, then,” I mutter. Though I have no wish to spend any time with Bill alone, I brought this on myself with my reckless behavior, so I might as well just swallow the frog. I can always invent an excuse when he proposes a time.
“Wonderful,” Ellie purrs, like a cat who’s finally disarmed the mouse and is getting ready to play. She pats Bill’s arm again. “I’m free this coming Sunday if that suits you.”
Bill nods so hard, I’m afraid his eyeballs could pop out. “Absolutely. I’ll brainstorm about the best potential restaurants and give you a list to choose from by tomorrow.”
A list of restaurants. Seriously? Can this man be any cheesier?
Ellie doesn’t share my opinion. She puts a hand on her chest, spreading her fingers like a fan. “That’s super thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
Bill glances at his watch. “Sorry, I have to run now. A group therapy session is starting. It was great to meet you, Wyatt. And good luck with your therapy. Though, don’t worry, you’re in skilled hands with Eloise.”
“I know I am,” I interject, but his attention is already on her.
“See you soon,” he murmurs and brushes her shoulder. His fingers land dangerously close to her collarbone, which makes my nostrils flare.
Bill strides out of the waiting room, and I think I can see some extra swing in his steps compared to when he came in.
Of course, what man in his right mind wouldn’t be on cloud nine if he scored a date with a woman as special as Ellie?
As soon as his steps die off, Ellie’s torso rotates to me, her hands flying to her hips. She is a pint-sized terror glaring up at me with her green eyes like knives. “What was that about?”
When in doubt, avoid the attacker. “What was what?” I ask.
“Why did you have to put yourself in the middle? Bill’s invitation didn’t include you,” she huffs.
When you can’t avoid the attacker, launch into your counterattack. “Are you even allowed to date the staff in your establishment?”
“You’re impossible.” Ellie whacks me in the chest.
Her touch wasn’t meant to be feathery, judging by her tightly set jaw, but it felt like a caress on my pectoral muscles. A delicate sizzle swamps my skin, which makes my words come out all jumbled. “I didn’t mean to be. I just…I…”
She shakes her head. “Wyatt, our past doesn’t give you any right to butt in on my private affairs.”
I gawk at her lips as she scolds me, and the blood in my jugular artery rushes faster.
“Wyatt, hey! Are you with me?”
“What? Oh, yes. Totally. No right to mess with your life. Or with the charming doc’s invitation for a cozy dinner, got it. As long as you’re sure you’re not getting into something that could hurt you.”
Ellie’s expression steels, and she lifts a brow. “That’s a weird thing to come out of your mouth, but I’ll take the high road and write it off as genuine concern. But you don’t need to worry. I’ve learned to watch out for my heart.”
Her words are like small blades smiting me in a soft, guilty spot. “Ellie, I’m sorry. Truly sorry,” I mumble.
Maybe it’s the honesty she detects in my voice, but her face softens. “That’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t only mean Bill. I’m sorry about back then. How things happened… I never meant to hurt you. I did what I did because—”
Ellie’s eyes lock with mine, and I stop.
It’s evident that the attraction I used to feel for Ellie has left debris in my soul, and these fragments could make me act recklessly when she’s standing so close to me. I shouldn’t rattle a cage I don’t know how to close once it pops open.
Ellie waits for me to continue, but when I don’t, she says, “I’ve accepted I was just a fling for you. There’s no need to discuss this any further.”
Ellie had been far more than a fling to me, though I’d never expressed my feelings to her in words. But she’s right. We’ve got to focus on the present if I want to fulfill my coaches’ condition and establish a friendship with Ellie along the way.
I nod. “Okay, whatever you say. I want our collaboration to go as smoothly as possible. You can even give me ground rules if you like.”
Ellie lets out a relieved sigh. “We only need one rule: not to speak about our past. We’ve got only three weeks for your therapy, and we can’t crowd this short time with irrelevant issues. Okay?”
“Fine.”
She chews on her lip. “This rule extends to everyone else, too.”
“This is not new.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I shrug. “You never wanted us to speak to anyon
e about us.”
She must take my words as a provocation because her shoulders become rigid.
Back in college, Ellie had insisted we keep our relationship hidden from her brother. Devon was battling with the nasty aftermath of a breakup when Ellie and I started dating, so perhaps she was right to withhold the news about our bliss from him. But then I got drafted—and our bliss ended.
Because of me.
Licks of guilt attack my innards.
As if Ellie senses the direction of my thoughts, she says, “At least you didn’t ruin your friendship with Devon over a dally.”
My heart drops, and the words jump to my mouth before I can stop them. “It wasn’t a dally.”
Ellie chews on her lower lip again—which she only does when she feels annoyed—and I recall her wish to leave the past unstirred.
I put up my hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to break your rule right out of the gates. My point was that we’re already experts at fending off any talk about us.” My forehead wrinkles. “Even if it was easy because we haven’t seen each other much…”
Her face softens. “Devon always passed on your invites. But it would’ve been awkward to hang out with you, Pete, and my brother, at least in the beginning. Then with time, it all became a habit, I guess.”
“Dodging me, you mean?” I give her a smile.
For the first time, she exchanges it with one of her own—a small but heartfelt one.
“Yes.” She nods, and a curl tumbles onto her forehead.
Without thinking, I reach out and brush it behind her ear.
She freezes at my touch, and I immediately withdraw my hand.
“So, uhm, are you ready to break your habit now?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It looks like I don’t have a choice. I want to keep my job. And you need yours too…so, yes.”
“Also, isn’t it kind of nice that we’re speaking again? I like it.” A whole lot more than I probably should.
Ellie nods. “Yeah, it probably is.” She points at the door. “After all this warm-up, are you ready to jump into your first RTAT session? We can use my boss’s office. She’s off to the hospital to give birth, but she left me her keys.”
She smiles, patting her coat pocket, which makes a metallic tinkle. Seeing her lips curl up makes me ask myself whether I made a mistake by committing to see her every day for the next three weeks.
I refuse to let this thought linger in my head.
The butterflies in my stomach, as giant as they might be, mean nothing. They come from old instincts that still need to die off. I just need to keep my history with Ellie where it belongs, and this arrangement will work out seamlessly.
I can totally do that.
Chapter 7
(Ellie)
My palms are sweaty as I push Stephanie’s office door open.
I wish I could say my jitters are only caused by performance anxiety, but I know that’s not the case. My nerves are shaky because Wyatt will be on the receiving end of my therapeutical services, which is entirely silly.
We broke the ice in the waiting room, didn’t we? We had our first chat in years, and it went fine. I acted rather composed with him, so I can be proud of myself.
Especially when Bill appeared. I ignore the snooty voice asking why I suggested dinner to the handsome doctor when only this morning I was having some doubts about his invitation for coffee.
I picture Wyatt’s face when I turned Bill’s invite into a romantic evening date. The image of his sour expression acts as a balm on my jumpiness. My diaphragm relaxes and the balloon that seemed to be squeezed beneath my ribs shrinks considerably.
I’ve got this. The therapy with Wyatt will be smooth cruising. I just need to stick to my professional duty.
I stride into my boss’s sanctuary with my chin high.
Wyatt follows me but stops when he reaches Stephanie’s beige carpet. He pulls his nose into a funny little grimace. “Ah, this smell again. It reminds me of the talc Mom bought me in high school to reduce sweating during trainings. Not that it worked.”
Stick with your role.
I give him a serene look that I hope doesn’t betray how I almost conjured an image of his bare chest covered in perspiration and baby powder. “It’s a tailor-made ambiance fragrance my boss orders from Spain.”
Wyatt steps closer to me and pats his masculine nose. “Well, I broke my nose a few times, so it might not work that well anymore. Even if, I can still recognize an enticing scent. Like the perfume you’re wearing. Orange blossom, perhaps?”
Heat rushes to my skull and, without answering him, I scurry to the window.
“I’ll open it. Our olfactory system influences our memory. We don’t want to subject you to any potentially disturbing smell while we dive into our first session,” I blabber while my fingers close around the cool aluminum handle.
I pull on it with way more energy than necessary, but it doesn’t move. I go at it with both hands, but nothing. “The stupid thing is stuck.”
Suddenly, a hot stream of air lands on my nape.
“Let me help,” Wyatt says.
Jeez, how close is he exactly? I don’t dare to check.
The last thing I need is a close-up look into his caramel eyes. I don’t want to lose my newly found confidence in my ability to carry my first case successfully to an end.
It’s enough that the small hairs on my neck are already standing up and the blimp in my stomach has re-inflated bigger than before.
Without turning, I step aside.
With ease, Wyatt twitches the handle the opposite direction from where I tried to force it, then grins at me. “Here you go. Is tilted okay?”
“Uhm, sure. It’s fine,” I say, while shame brews in my belly.
I’ve opened this window like a thousand times already. I should have known to turn it to the left. Okay, no point in dwelling on it. Let’s just get to work.
I clear my throat. “Take a seat please and then we can get started.”
He nods. “Of course, where shall I sit?”
I point him to the black couch while I go to the cabinet where we keep the patient files. I fetch my notebook and the documents I need to fill out with him.
When I have everything together, I move over to Stephanie’s egg chair.
My boss claims that clients are more prone to confide in her when she sits on something that resembles the shape of a womb, but I doubt Wyatt’s chattiness will be influenced by this maternal symbol. Still, I choose it because it’s the furthest I can stay from him without seeming like I’m doing it on purpose.
First, we go through the administrative files, then I give him the papers that are supposed to test some of his personality traits and habits. “These are questionnaires you can complete tonight. Tomorrow we can check the results together.”
Wyatt picks them up and scans them then nods. “Okay.” He places the documents beside him and raises his chin. “So, what shall we do now?”
“The first session is always short. I’ll just explain what you can expect during our treatment, and then we’ll talk some more about the reason that brought you to our clinic. Sound good?”
“Sure.” Wyatt shrugs and places his elbows on the couch’s armrests. His causal gesture presses his T-shirt to his wide chest.
I keep my eyes on his face and recite the words I’ve so often heard Stephanie chant to her patients. “During a Rapid Transformational Anger Therapy, which I’ll just refer to as RTAT from now on, we won’t be psychoanalyzing your entire childhood.”
Relief floods Wyatt’s features. “That’s good. Otherwise, we’d never get to the end of it.”
He utters his remark lightly, but it still sounds somewhat bitter. I’m reminded that Wyatt didn’t have a good relationship with his father.
I’m curious to learn more of what went down in the Harrison house when we were younger. When my brother and Wyatt hung out, it was mostly Wyatt who came over to us, so even Devon couldn’t give me insights as to why Wyatt g
ot cranky every time Mason, his father, was mentioned.
When Wyatt and I were dating, I’d tried to learn more about their relationship, but Wyatt had never been forthcoming, and I’d written it off as a normal reaction, given that his father left his mother the year I started university.
I lift my finger. “This doesn’t mean we won’t speak about the past though. Unexplained anger often originates from suppressed frustrations and regrets.”
“Mhm, I have some of those, as you know,” Wyatt says, giving me a loaded glance.
Afraid that he might forget my rule, I quickly add, “You need to remember that this therapy is about you, and you, only. I’m just a tool to enable you to resolve your soul’s knots. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.” Wyatt nods, but his jaw sets into a tight line.
“Good.” I return his nod and quickly explain the type of exercises—ad-hoc associations, role playing, flashcards, free flow questioning and short hypnotic sessions—that we may employ to get to the root of his issues.
“Role playing, huh?” He eyes me with an amused glance. “That one sounds interesting.”
“Most clients find it so,” I answer in an even tone, trying to control the warmth that spreads toward my cheeks.
What’s wrong with me?
There’s no reason to become like a gushy teenager. I’m a therapist, and the words I used were the proper technical terms to describe the activities I’ll be using with Wyatt.
Needing to establish my authority, I lean forward and meet Wyatt’s gaze. “Now that you’ve heard my introduction, I’d like to return to that punch you gave your teammate. I need to understand what prompted you to jab that man. You’re not a hitter. Did something unusual happen before the game?”
His lips curl up as if I gave him a major compliment. “It’s good to know you don’t think I’m an unreasonable beast. Many who know me only from the gridiron assume that the way I play football is how I behave in real life. But you never saw the athlete side of me.”
I ignore his last phrase. “No, you’re not a beast. But you still didn’t answer my question. Did something prompt you to be on edge that day?”
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 6