Bring the Heat

by L. Wilder

  Grace

  I stepped through the front door and took a deep breath, reminding myself that people go to psychiatrists all the time. It was perfectly normal and quite common, and there was nothing for me to be embarrassed about. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop me from feeling like an awkward mess as I hesitantly stood by the front desk while the receptionist opened the window.

  “Good morning.” I was greeted with a warm smile. “May I help you?”

  “Oh, um … yes, I have an appointment with Dr. Michaels.”

  “Okay. Just sign in, and I’ll get you some forms to fill out.” After she handed me a clipboard with the routine paperwork attached, I turned around and found myself a seat in the waiting room. Just as I was about to finish the paperwork, I heard my name called.

  “Grace Parker.” The secretary held the door open and led me down a short hallway. Dr. Michaels was one of the therapists at the clinic my coworker had referred me to. I wasn’t exactly thrilled that she hadn’t actually met the good doctor, but she assured me it was the best clinic in the area. With that thought in mind, I was starting to feel more confident in my decision to see the doctor. His secretary was friendly, sweet even, and the building was clean and beautifully decorated. It was classy, yet comforting, leaving me with a really good feeling.

  Then, Dr. Seth Michaels, DPM, opened the door to his office and I felt like the rug was pulled out from under my feet, landing me flat on my ass. He was nothing like I’d imagined—he wasn’t old and gray or frail and meek. No, he was like some kind of Adonis with a face that stopped me dead in my tracks and a drool-worthy body to match. I would’ve never dreamed that a shrink could be so damn good-looking. As I stood there staring at him, all those good feelings from just minutes earlier completely vanished. The air seemed to rush from my lungs, and like a boa constrictor wrapping its body around my chest, I could barely take a breath. I had no idea what to do. I was there to talk to him about my most intimate problems, but there was no way in hell that was going to happen. The ghosts in my closet were going to remain securely locked away in the vault where they belonged.

  His eyes lit up as he stepped forward and smiled. “Well, hello there, Ms. Parker. I’m Seth Michaels.” He extended his hand as I managed to come to my senses … well, enough to smile and shake it. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?”

  I hated the name Ms. Parker. It made me feel like I’d suddenly aged twenty years, not to mention it reminded me of my mother. I apprehensively answered, “Umm … you can call me Grace.”

  “Okay. Grace, it is.” I nodded as he motioned for me to take a seat. I should’ve just turned and walked away, keeping all my neuroses intact along with what was left of my self-esteem. But something, a force I couldn’t even begin to understand, compelled me to walk into his office. Every nerve in my body twitched as I made my way past him and headed over to the sofa. He sat down in the brown leather recliner in front of me, and once we were both settled, he gave me another warm smile. “Well, Grace. What brings you in to see me today?”

  I looked at him sitting there, assessing me with those gorgeous green eyes, and I couldn’t imagine telling him why I was really there. So, I lied.

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  He paused for a moment, studying me as I sat there with my blank expression. I wasn’t making it easy for him. I knew that, but I couldn’t stop myself. The longer I sat there, ogling his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, the more aggravated I became. I could feel it churning inside of me. Sure, he was a therapist. He was there to listen and help me with my problems, but I feared that he would end up being just like all the others. On the outside he looked like the perfect guy—with his tailored, navy blue, double-breasted jacket, a crisp, white button-down shirt, and sinfully fitting dark denim jeans, not to mention his godlike handsome features. A girl would think he’d be the kind of man who would make their dreams come true—but I did my best to avoid men like him, fearing he’d just end up being another disappointment. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help the fact that he was hot, that he was the epitome of sex, and that just looking at him brought a thousand unfulfilled fantasies to my mind.

  When I didn’t speak, he tried once again. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little something about yourself?”

  “Um … Well, I’m twenty-eight years old … and I grew up in Westchester, New York,” I told him as I glanced around the room, quickly becoming distracted by my surroundings. It wasn’t your everyday counselor’s office. Instead, it looked like something a successful lawyer might have, or maybe some wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street. It was extravagantly decorated with beautiful hand-painted canvases on the walls, an over-sized, leather sofa, which I was currently sitting on, and a stunning, large oak desk. I could only assume that someone had decorated it for him—maybe his wife—no scratch that. I’d noticed earlier that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so maybe it was an interior decorator who had done it for him. Regardless, it was one of the nicest offices I’d ever seen. When he clicked his pen, my attention was drawn back over to him. His eyes were focused directly on me as he sat there waiting for me to continue with my response.

  I sighed and answered, “And ... I’ve been a news journalist at the Dupont Times for the past four years.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” He wrote something down on his notepad, which I couldn’t imagine what, because I barely gave him anything. I’d been short and to the point on purpose, hoping that I wouldn’t divulge too much, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d written down. After jotting down his notes, he looked back at me and asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Yes. I have a sister, Mia.”

  “Is she older or younger?”

  “She’s four years older than me,” I answered nervously. I looked back at the door, and cursed myself for not leaving when I had the chance. There was little I could do about it now, so I answered, “She lives in Ridgefield with her two kids and her husband, Roger.”

  “Would you say the two of you were close growing up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? I’m sure that wasn’t easy with her being so much older, especially in your formative years.”

  “There were times when it wasn’t exactly easy, but we made the best of it.” My sister was one of those compassionate types—always understanding and putting others before herself. She wasn’t one to hold grudges or throw your mistakes in your face. Nothing at all like me.

  “And your parents? Are you close as well?”

  He rested his pen in his lap, and I suddenly felt a little more relaxed. Without meaning to, I let my guard down for a moment and answered, “I guess. I was very close to my father.”

  “Was?”

  “He died a couple of years ago,” I answered, trying my best not to sound too heartbroken. My father meant everything to me. He was the only one who seemed to understand me, who loved me without condition, and I missed him every single day. I knew he would want to discuss the loss of my father, but it wasn’t something I talked about—ever.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a parent can be very difficult.”

  He had no idea. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

  I hoped that he would move on, come up with another intrusive question, but he didn’t. He just sat there waiting for me to continue. I waited several long seconds, but the silence got to be too much. “My mother and I have had our moments, but for the most part, I think I’ve been a disappointment to her.”

  Again, he remained silent.

  “She means well, but she wants everything in our lives to be perfect. She wants us to be perfect, especially me.”

  His head cocked to the side as he asked, “How so?”

  I shrugged. “It just little things that she says. She’s constantly giving me advice about everything, and it makes me feel like I’m not living up to her expectations. I’m not skinny enough. My hair isn’t straight enough. I don’t wear the right clothes or makeup … It�
�s never-ending.”

  His long fingers raked through his short, perfectly-groomed brown hair, which immediately fell back into place when his hand ran along the nape of his neck, then back down to his lap. “Do you really feel like she expects more from you than she does your sister?”

  My eyes skirted to the floor as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. It was a sore subject, but one I’d come accustomed to over the years. “Well, my sister is pretty much perfect. She has a great job, an amazing figure, and she has two wonderful kids and a great husband. There’s nothing for my mother to be disappointed about where she’s concerned. I, on the other hand, am a different story.”

  The sound of his pen clicking echoed through the room, and I could actually feel my nerves tingling as I watched his teeth toy with his bottom lip. The wheels were turning in his head, and I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. Had I already given away too much? He quickly wrote something on his notepad, and a part of me wondered if he already knew the answer when he asked, “And how are you so different?”

  “Because she thinks I’m making a mess of my life.”

  His tone changed slightly as he asked, “Why does she think that?”

  “Because I’m not married. I don’t have a boyfriend. Oh, and the clock on my ovaries is ticking like a giant time bomb.” I couldn’t believe I just told him all that. I had every intention of keeping things simple, away from the hard stuff, but I’d just opened the door to the vault. Shit. Trying to force it closed again, I grumbled, “Enough said.”

  The room fell into silence as he looked at me with a puzzled expression. I guess I surprised him. I’m not sure which part threw him off, but there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face. When he didn’t respond, I continued, “Personally, I don’t think she could be more wrong. A man is the last thing I need in my life.”

  That comment seemed to shock him even more as he cocked his head to the side and clicked his stupid pen, again. “I’d like to further discuss your last statement in just a moment, but let’s take a step back before we continue. So, you’re not seeing anyone right now?”

  “No.”

  There was another dramatic pause as he shifted in his chair. I noticed a flicker of intrigue in his eyes, which I hadn’t seen before, and it became even more apparent when his gaze slowly drifted down my body. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that he was doing it in a rather seductive manner, or maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, right? Ignoring the intense look in his eyes, I leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “I was seeing someone, but it just didn’t work out. He was a self-centered jerk, which seems to be the status quo with all the men I date.”

  “Do you care to elaborate on that?”

  A sexy smile spread across his face, and as much as I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help but let my guard down even more. “Which part?”

  “The status quo?”

  “I seem to have the same issues with every man I date.”

  I tried to fight it, but the words just came flowing right out of my mouth. There was something about Seth Michaels that had me telling things about myself that I’d never shared with anyone, and it terrified me. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up revealing that one secret— that one humiliating secret—that I’d never shared with anyone.

  Chapter 2

  There was only one word to describe her—exquisite.

  In my entire life, I’d never been so completely captivated by another human being. As soon as she stepped into my office, I was completely caught off guard by my body’s reaction to her: my pulse started to race, my body temperature rose, and sweat began to bead along my brow. I couldn’t help myself. She was a true beauty, like an angel with a body that looked like it had been sculpted by God himself. Her long, almost white, blonde hair flowed down her delicate shoulders, accentuating the ocean-blue color of her eyes. As she walked past me, the soft essence of lavender and vanilla filled the room, seducing my senses in a way that had me imagining her in my bed. I could almost feel her there, nestled in my arms as I inhaled her scent. This was not a good way to start a session. I was a complete mess as I made my way over to my chair. When I reached for my notepad, my eyes met hers, and my heart stopped cold. The way her eyes pierced straight through me made me wonder if she’d noticed the effect she was having on me. Had I managed to hide it, or had she realized from the moment she walked into the room, I’d been imagining her sprawled out on my desk as I explored every inch of her body? I was fucked.

  I’d come across beautiful women before, but none had ever tempted me in such a way—none had ever made me consider risking my entire career for just one moment, just one touch, one taste. It was all I could think about. She was my every desire wrapped up in a beautiful, but damaged package. I knew I was in trouble. I knew I was crossing boundaries, but curiosity had gotten the best of me. It was the only thing keeping me from showing her the door. I had to know what brought her into my office.

  I sat there marveling at her intoxicating beauty and couldn’t understand why she was single, and I certainly couldn’t understand why her mother didn’t think she was absolutely perfect. She was smart, independent, and had a body that could bring any man to his knees. Needing to know everything about her, I asked, “Could you expound upon some of the issues you’ve had with the men you’ve dated?”

  Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, letting me know that she was contemplating her response. “I don’t know. I’m sure it’s the same for everyone.” She shrugged and continued, “At first, it’s like you’ve found the perfect guy. He’s handsome and charming. He does all the right things … says all the right things, and everything seems to be going great.”

  I waited for a moment, giving her time to think. Her nose twitched as she gave me a look of indifference. “But over time, things start to change.”

  I knew exactly what she was saying, but I wanted to hear her take on it. “How so?”

  Her brow arched as she waved her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe my expectations are too high.”

  “It’s perfectly normal to feel let down when things don’t turn out like you hoped they would,” I tried to assure her. “We all want to find that perfect someone, but it doesn’t happen overnight.”

  Her chin lifted, and once again, her beautiful eyes met mine. I wanted to think that I was getting somewhere with her, but when I noticed a flicker of doubt in them, I knew then she still needed some convincing. She sighed in frustration. “I just don’t understand why it has to be so hard. It shouldn’t be this difficult. It has to be me. I must not be wired right or something.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Grace. It’s not all your fault. You know what they say, ‘it takes two to tango.’”

  “Maybe so, but I know I’m not helping matters.” She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I just don’t understand men. It’s like they’re creatures from another planet.”

  “Just so you know, men feel the same way about women.” I laughed as I told her, “They’ve even written books about it … lots of them.”

  “Pfft,” she scoffed. “Women aren’t all that complicated. At least with us, what you see is what you get.”

  “Hmm … You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yeah. I guess some women can be a little complicated.” She sighed. “But I think guys try to be complicated on purpose.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You know. They do stupid stuff to keep a girl guessing … like they text to ask what you’re doing, and after you respond, they don’t text back for another three hours. It’s just a way to keep you off guard, right?”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Then, why else would they do it?”

  “You may not like my answer.” I snickered.

  Sarcasm dripped from her words as she replied, “Oh, no. I’d love to hear it.”

  “Well, maybe it’s as simple as he got busy, or maybe you didn’t resp
ond the way he hoped you would. Or maybe his mood changed, and he wasn’t up for talking. It could be any number of reasons, but it isn’t something you should take to heart.”

  “Whatever.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she muttered, “I think it means he isn’t really interested.”

  “That’s a possibility, but in your case, I highly doubt it.” Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes widened with surprise. The words had slipped from my mouth before I’d taken the time to think. I quickly tried to cover my tracks by asking, “Have you ever mentioned your concerns to the men you’ve dated?”

  “When I have, they’ve always found a way to turn it all around on me, so I’ve gotten to where I just don’t care.”

  I knew she was lying. She cared. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be sitting on my sofa talking to me. “You never know. You could always ask them how they think the relationship is going.”

  “Hmm … I don’t think so. If you have to ask a guy if he loves you, it takes some of the magic out of it, you know?”

  “If you love someone, you have to keep the lines of communication open. It’s the only way to make sure you both are on the same page.”

  She propped her elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Her eyes roamed over me for a moment, then an enlightened smile spread across her face. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of those romantic types, aren’t you? You think love is the answer to everything?”

  “No. Not at all. I don’t think there is just one answer to anything.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t think there’s enough love in the world to make a man pick up his dirty clothes off the floor. I mean, I’d settle for not finding his dirty socks on my living room floor. I can’t decide if they are simply that lazy, or if they’re doing it just to tick me off.”

  “That’s a common problem. I have a question for you. What happens to the laundry he doesn’t pick it up?”

  “I might give it a couple of days, but eventually I’ll pick it up myself and carry it into the laundry room.”