– Whitney
I can’t get him off my mind.
The way he looked as he did his squats.
The way he felt when he was so close to me that he almost kissed me— and I can’t help but feel that he wanted to do that.
The way he smelled: a masculine mix of sweat and raw desire.
The way he felt: his soft touch as he lifted my face up to look at him, his strong back against my fingertips.
Before heading home, I stop by Lance’s office.
“What was that ruckus with McMoocher all about?” he asks, as soon as he sees me. “You had the whole place talking about it.”
“Don’t ask me,” I tell him, embarrassed that everyone knows my personal business. “But it won’t be happening again. We are over. I’m done with him. In fact, I need to talk to Cheryl. She never should have let him past the receptionist desk in the first place, and now it’s especially important she not let him through.”
“I’m so glad you finally decided to kick that deadbeat to the curb. But as far as Cheryl is concerned, I doubt he could be reasoned with,” Lance says. “From all accounts he was awfully upset to find you working with Hunky McHunkerson.”
“Very funny,” I laugh. “But on that note…”
“Yes?”
Lance sits down at his desk and appears more business-like. I hand him the assessment sheet I was working on with Harlow.
“Turns out I was wrong,” I confess. “I really thought Dr. Davis was exaggerating Harlow’s remarkable recovery. But he passed all the basic tests with flying colors.”
“Really?”
Lance skims through the list, looking skeptical.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I have patients that can’t do any of this stuff after months and months, and during his very first session, Harlow just showed up and blew me away.”
“Did he now?” Lance raises an eyebrow. “And what did you do for him?”
“Lance,” I groan. “I’m serious. Now I’m kind of perplexed about why Harlow is even here. He doesn’t seem to need our help. I guess Dr. Davis did everything we would have done. So it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Are you sure he performed this well?” Lance asks, which hurts my feelings.
Lance knows me enough to know that even though Harlow is hot as hell, I’m a professional through and through and I wouldn’t make up these results.
“I’m not accusing you of lying,” Lance says, “even though it is rather suspicious that you break up with McMooch and start advocating for McHunk on the very same day.” He laughs. “I just wonder if maybe your results weren’t colored by… admiration, shall we say?”
I shrug. “I can see how you’d think that’s possible, but I saw him excel at all the tests with my own two eyes. You’re welcome to come to the next appointment and see for yourself.”
“I may drop in,” he says. “But good job today. On dumping the moocher and on getting with the program and working with McHunk. I told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Not bad at all.
I feel elated as I drive home, even though I know I should still feel sad about my apparent break-up with Tony. I’m glad that I was off base with my suspicions about Harlow. And I’m happy that he’s doing so well. Maybe Dr. Davis isn’t even so bad after all.
I also can’t help reminiscing about my first session training Harlow. As I pull up to my cul-de-sac I see that Tony and one of his friends are there, with a pick-up truck.
Good.
But I don’t want to be around until he’s done moving out.
I head to a nearby coffee shop, where I can immerse myself in the latest romance book by my favorite author. As I begin the book, I savor the juicy main character but I know he’s got nothing on Harlow.
I can’t help but wish that Harlow would have taken his fingers from my chin and traced them over my lips, then down my throat and neck. If we were alone, he could have unbuttoned my blouse and caressed me in a way that Tony never bothered to do.
Harlow seems as if he’d be an attentive lover, who would spend time rubbing and licking me before finally taking me in the way we both know he wants to. I bet he could give me my very first orgasm.
“Can I get you anything else, Miss?”
I jolt out of my fantasizes to see the barista standing in front of me with a washcloth in her hand. I look around and realize it’s late; I’m the last patron here and she’s waiting to clean my table and leave.
Crap.
I was so lost in my thoughts about Harlow that I also lost track of time. I have to get home and get to bed; I have an early day tomorrow.
I can’t believe I had a real, live heartthrob in my therapy room earlier. And I get to work with him again soon. I have the best job ever.