Page 10 of Doctor Stuff

Silver Fox Therapy

Chapter 1

I cross and uncross my legs, letting out a sigh as my court-appointed therapist, Dr. John, raises his eyebrows at me, waiting for me to get over myself and say something. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and slouch in my seat, glaring at him.

Sure, I’m twenty-five years old, but right now I feel like a teenager facing down my dad. I cross my legs again and leave my foot jiggling in front of me.

Dr. John looks down at the clipboard resting on his lap – unlike me, he’s not fidgeting all over the place – and makes a note.

“What are you writing?” I ask, not bothering to temper the hostility in my voice. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Exactly.” If he’s bothered by my questions, it doesn’t show as he rests his hand on the clipboard and returns to his observation of me.

I probably wouldn’t be quite so out of sorts if I hadn’t somehow drawn a silver fox Zaddy as my shrink. Seriously, Dr. John is all sorts of hot, from the top of his silver-gray hair to the neatly trimmed silver beard along his strong jawline, and the way his shoulders fill out the jacket he’s wearing. I’ve never had a thing for older men, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that made me feel like a nervous wreck from the moment I walked into his office and saw him.

I don’t do well with authority figures.

I definitely don’t do well with older men.

But something about Dr. John has me completely thrown out of my usual headspace and feeling like I want to do something really stupid… like try and impress him.

There’s another long moment of silence as I bite down on my lower lip to keep from blurting out something crazy. Like asking him if he’s married. It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t care anyway.

“Well, Traci, would you like to say something now?”

“No.”

Another long silence.

I can’t help it.

“Aren’t you supposed to try and make me say something?” It seems stupid to just sit here in silence.

“Why would I want to do that?” He raises his eyebrows at me again.

“Because how else are you supposed to diagnose me?”

“Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

I squirm in my seat at his calm, controlled voice. I wonder if anything ever throws him. Maybe if I flashed him.

I bet that would crack his calm.

The image that pops into my head of his likely expression, his eyes bulging, jaw dropping in shock, almost makes me snort with amusement.

He’s still studying me, and he makes another note on his clipboard as I realize I’m smiling. Immediately, I smile wider, since he thinks that’s so noteworthy.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks.

“Flashing you my tits.” So maybe I’m not going to actually do it, but I can still get the reaction from saying it.

Except he doesn’t react at all. He doesn’t even blink. His expression doesn’t change. His hand rests on his clipboard, holding his pen, because apparently telling him that I’m thinking about pulling up my shirt and showing off my tits to him isn’t noteworthy.

“Do it.”

I freeze. There’s no fucking way he just said what I think he said… right?

Except he’s still sitting there, looking at me, the two words echoing in my ears.