I check my phone for a new text. It’s about the fifteenth time I’ve done so in the past ten minutes.

Waiting for an update about a woman’s night out feels … odd.

Back when Maddie was alive, I’d spent a lot of nights like this, checking my phone and waiting by the door, eager to hear where she was and what she was doing while she hung out with friends or attended to business. Even though I’d never enjoyed the waiting, the warm shot of pleasure I always got when she finally checked in had made up for it. I’d loved knowing that no matter what she was doing, I was as much on her mind as she was on mine.

“No news,” I tell Sammy, who is passed out on the couch. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Means they’re getting along, that things are progressing smoothly. Right?”

Sammy doesn’t so much as twitch. He’s not nearly as interested in Erin’s date as I am.

Would Maddie have approved of what I was doing?

I honestly don’t know.

I mean, I know she would be perfectly happy with the idea of me helping Erin find happiness in the bedroom, but I think she’d be concerned if she knew that I’m starting to become emotionally involved with Erin, that I’m genuinely vested in what I’ve set in motion. She’d be horrified to know that even though I’ve never met Dan, Erin’s date, that I want to put my fist through his face just to prevent him from touching her again.

Maddie was a big believer in keeping emotions out of the picture when dealing with a patient. And while I don’t understand exactly why I have such a strong reaction to Erin, there’s no denying that she triggers emotions in me that I thought had died a long time ago.

If only I knew what I was supposed to do about them.

Too keyed up to sit down and watch the Arizona Wildcats basketball game that’s playing on the television, I pace from one end of the room to the other.

“I should have asked her which restaurant they were going to.” As the only other living, breathing thing in this apartment, Sammy is going to listen to me whether he likes it or not. “I could have gone, staked out a spot at the bar, and watched how things progress. Sent her text messages with tips and encouragement whenever she looks like she needs them.”

Even as the words come out of my mouth, I know it’s a stupid idea. Erin’s a classy woman who runs a thriving marketing firm. She dates doctors, lawyers, and architects. I’d bet my penthouse that with my tattoos, too-long hair, and pierced ear, that I’d stand out like a sore thumb if I sat at the bar in one of those places. I have the manners and money to fit in, but not the looks.

I’m not the kind of guy who can blend into any setting.

“God, I hope I did the right thing.” I run a hand through my thick hair.

After spending so much time reading through Maddie’s extensive sex note collection that my eyes were starting to cross, I decided that the most likely reason Erin was struggling to get off during sex stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t allowing herself to relax and really enjoy the experience.

Not only did Maddie’s notes indicate that this was one of the more common reasons women, especially those who were in the early stages of dating a guy, struggle to climax, but it also seemed to jive with what I know about Erin. She’s an upwardly mobile woman, career driven, intelligent, who has worked hard for everything she has. The times our paths crossed in this building, she seemed pleasant enough, but I can’t think of a single time when she seemed relaxed.

Plus, it sounded like she’s desperate to find a man. Having a successful career isn’t enough for her. She wants the whole package.

It makes perfectly good sense to me that if she just relaxes and focuses on her body, that the rest will follow. That’s why I spent so much time perusing The Sex Project’s online inventory, until I found exactly the right set of stockings and the lube that was supposed to be the most effective on the market.

An image of Erin wearing nothing but those same stockings, spread out on my bed, ready and waiting for me, forms in my mind’s eye.  I clench my fists as my cock goes rock hard in response to the imaginary vision. Swallowing hard, I push the image away and focus on taking long, steadying breaths until some semblance of control returns to my body.

After reining my imagination in, I think about the path I selected for Erin. If my not entirely professional psychological evaluation is right, and she’s simply been too tense to really enjoy herself during sex, there’s a good chance that by tomorrow morning she’ll be happily in love and no longer need my services.

The thought saddens me.

When I sent that first text to Erin, I thought solving her little problem would be a good distraction, and it was.

What I didn’t expect was to enjoy myself, or that I’d like Erin so much. During our texting and phone conversations she proved herself to be smart, somewhat sassy, and fun.

While Maddie’s death didn’t exactly turn me into a hermit, even I have to admit that, with the exception of a few close friends, I really have cut myself off from people. That’s probably why I no longer think twice about holding one-way conversations with Sammy.

But Erin made me want to come out of my shell, to start living again.

I rub my thumb over my wedding ring. If nothing else, this interlude with Erin has shown me that it’s time to put myself back out in the world. Time to once again infiltrate society and become a vital member of it.

Assuming of course that everything goes well with Erin’s date tonight. If I’m wrong, and her problems go deeper than a simple inability to relax when she’s with a man, then I’ll have to go back to the drawing board and keep working with her. And that means that if tonight doesn’t work out, I am going to have to send her out on another date.

Jealousy shafts through me and I run a hand across my chest, trying to ease the sudden, dull ache that’s formed.

The fact that I’m reacting this strongly to the mere thought of a man touching Erin proves one thing. Until I get this attraction or whatever it is I’m feeling under control, I need to stay far, far away from her.