Trying to avoid my patients, I keep my head tilted down at the pad in my lap, pretending to take notes. These sessions are fucking painful. Every second spent with this counseling group makes me want to gouge my eyes out with the goddamn pen in my hand. Instead of writing, I am sketching what could pass as Captain America, though I’m not so sure anyone would get the reference but me.

When I was a kid, I would draw comic book characters to block out all the yelling and fighting my parents did every night. My dad would come home from work after a long day at the office, just as irritated as me with his patients, and would go at it with my mom for hours. With each glass of scotch he drank, his attitude would worsen.

I began my career by treating patients with addictions—because I know them so well. Over the past five years, I have treated my fair share of addicts. I guess Scarlett rubbed off on me. But I couldn’t stand dealing with people who reminded me of my father or myself.

Now, I see couples with marital problems and men with erectile dysfunction—and for a good reason. A nagging wife or a limp dick are two things I will ever have, hence the shift in my specialty.

Between Erica, my assistant, and the recurring patients, the group I host every week practically runs itself. So, I sit here, doing my best to ignore everyone, and let Erica deal with running the show.

Anytime I’m spoken to directly, I mutter, uh-huh, a few times, so it seems as though I care. I don’t. And why would I? The issues my patients have with their spouses will never apply to me.

They say marriage is an institution, probably because you would have to be mental to want to spend your life with the same person. I prefer my freedom, thank you very much. I am content with being thirty years old and unmarried. In fact, I love it. Single life suits me well. With no kids tying me down, or baby mamas in the way, my life is perfect.

“Dr. Shaw, my husband still won’t have sex with me,” Patricia says, her voice whiny and sad. “When I touch him, he walks away from me.”

As I trace the outline of Captain America’s shield, I nod my head and say, “And how does that make you feel?”

Patricia Boyd has no idea I have tuned her out, same as her husband. They never listen to a word I say. The Boyds are here because Kevin is having an affair with the woman sitting in the chair next to him. His wife hasn’t figured it out yet. I wish I could say something without piercing the veil of professionalism.

How she doesn’t see what is right in front of her amazes me. I was hoping by now that Patrica would catch on to the way Kevin and Alanna look at each other. The corners of Kevin’s mouth turn up every time Alanna talks to him. She even grazes her fingers against his under the table when she doesn’t think anyone is watching. But I never miss a beat.

Every time his wife mentions Alanna’s name, Kevin perks up. She’s single with no kids and is only here to support her sister, or at least that was her reason for coming in the beginning. Now, it’s clear, at least to me, that Alanna comes for Kevin. Her skirts have gotten shorter as each week passes, and her comments and looks are more sexually suggestive.

Kevin is open to whatever Alanna is throwing down. All the obvious signs are there for Kevin’s wife to see.

Everyone in the group is here because they have a sex-related issue. Their spouse won’t have sex with them, they are unable to fulfill their needs, or they are simply not interested in their partner, which is the Boyds’ case.

I encounter the same issue every day with my patients. Most of the time, there are deeper issues within the marriage that the couple must resolve before we can begin our treatment and start making real changes.

“He doesn’t look at me anymore,” Patricia whines, causing me to glance up from my notepad.

I wonder if anyone can see what I am doing. Not that I would care. After all, I’m the doctor, and they are my patients.

Ever since Scarlett walked out of my life, I haven’t had the same desire to connect with my patients. She was right about me in every way. But I will never admit to anyone that I have a problem.

I have ten more minutes before I can leave this damn office to meet my noon appointment for lunch. My latest conquest kept her mouth shut and did everything I asked of her last night at The Circle. Maybe she could be my next submissive. If I wasn’t listening to my patients complain to one another, I would have already been at the restaurant.

I told the hot blonde to meet me for lunch, mostly because I wanted more and knew I wouldn’t make it until tonight to see her again at The Circle, the one place in Los Angeles that truly makes me happy. If she thinks this is a date, she’s mistaken. I plan to fuck, maybe eat, and then leave. In that order.

Most likely, I will skip the eating part to avoid the awkward post-sex conversation. Women can become clingy if you buy them a meal after sex, and I tell them up front that I am not interested. I don’t do lunches or dinners. Movies and date nights are a massive hell no. Fuck and forget, now that I understand.

Plus, the girls I meet at The Circle are groomed by the elite members who run the secret sex club. They know what the men want—submissive women who will fulfill our every desire. And they do. The woman I met last night was new, or at least new to me. She kept her head down as she entered the room and followed my commands. Just the way I like it.

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Kevin yells, throwing his hands in the air, pulling me away from drawing. “I’m not a robot, and I can’t have sex with her on command.”

I glance up at the middle age couple and focus on Kevin. “Do you want to have sex with your wife? That’s the question you should ask yourself instead of making excuses for why you can’t be intimate with Patricia.”

He gives me a blank stare and doesn’t respond. We all know his answer is no. Now, if I had asked him the same question about Alanna, the answer would be a definite yes. I have been over the Boyds’ drama since their tenth session, with each visit growing worse as the weeks pass.

As their doctor, I have to remain impartial and present both sides of the story. No matter how many times I have tried to help the Boyds, they show up fighting over the same issues. Even with all the medical advice in the world, I cannot save this marriage.

“Can you help us or not, Dr. Shaw?” Patricia sounds hopeful.

I wish I could get them out of this funk, but only Kevin can turn this marriage around. And I can’t be the one to tell Patricia about her husband’s wandering dick.

I clear my throat before I speak, giving myself a second to come up with some bullshit to spin for them. “I’m doing my best, but I have my reservations about treatment working for either of you for as long as you come here as a couple. There are bigger issues you need to address before you can work on fixing your marriage.”

I say this, thinking Kevin might listen to me if I can get him alone. Either he will end the marriage or repair what he has damaged.

Patricia folds her arms across her chest and lets out a puff of air, glaring at Kevin.

Knowing that Kevin has been cheating on his wife for what appears to be at least a few months, I have no real hope for the success of this marriage. I try to stay optimistic when I first enter treatment with my patients. But Kevin’s unwillingness to end his affair and work with Patricia leaves me frustrated. We are wasting our time sitting in this office each week.

Patricia rambles off a list of things Kevin needs to work on to improve their marriage while I do my best to pretend to listen. I record the sessions for a reason. A man can only take so much ranting and bashing before I have to retreat to my happy place, one where nagging wives and girlfriends are not allowed.

Saved by the bell, the timer goes off on my phone to signify the end of the session. What a relief. After what seemed like hours of my life wasted, this nightmare is over. I imagine the unnamed girl I met last night, which excites me. If I were smart, I would have asked for her name and number.

I chuckle to myself, wondering what I would even do with her number. Not like I would call her. I shudder at the thought of sitting on the phone and having an actual conversation with a woman. I had that with Scarlett, and that didn’t pan out for me.

“That’s the end of our time,” I say, standing in an attempt to silence my patients and their brutal conversation. “I’ll see all of you next week.”

After the patients leave, Erica closes the door and walks over to me, giving me her usual look of disapproval. “You could at least act as if you care.”

“You could do me a favor and get undressed, but we can’t always get what we want,” I shoot back with a cocky grin.

I love the games I play with my assistant.

Erica rolls her eyes. “You are such a pervert.”

“And you’re no fun.”

“Because I won’t sleep with you? If you call being professional boring, then I guess it fits.”

“You know you want me,” I growl, stepping in front of her.

“Yes, and you know I’m not interested. I don’t shit where I eat.”

“Now that’s a disturbing visual.” I remove my keys from my pocket and check the time on my cell phone. “Hold my calls. I have a lunch date.”

“You mean an afternoon delight,” she says, laughing.

Erica knows all my secrets. What makes her such a great assistant is that she never speaks of our inappropriate exchanges and keeps her mouth shut, though I would rather be doing something else with her mouth.

I shrug off her comment, noting the look of disgust on her face. For the past six months, I have tried to get Erica to bend to my will. She’s just like Scarlett, too stubborn to give in to me. I respect her more because of it.

“You have an appointment at two o’clock with Mrs. Collins. Make sure you come back in time. I am tired of making excuses for you.”

“Isn’t that why I pay you?” I guide her out of the office, with my hand on her back, and lock the door behind us. “So you can be the gatekeeper around here.”

“Sometimes, I feel like your warden. Do me a favor and show up at a reasonable hour. I can only cover for you so many times before people start to think you’re an asshole, and I’m a liar.”

“I am an asshole.” There’s no sense in denying the truth.

“While that is true, I am not a liar.” Erica stops in front of the elevator and hits the button for me. Once the car reaches our floor and the doors fly open, Erica holds out her hand, gesturing for me to get inside. “Have a nice lunch, Dr. Shaw.”

I wink at her and get in the elevator. “I plan on it.”