I grip the edge of my desk, forcing my body to stay seated. But my eyes can’t be commanded so easily. They trail every inch of him and settle at his lips. Lips I can still taste…
“Ms. Montgomery? Are you all right?”
I swallow hard. His voice is distinct but different, drawing me out of the agonizing past and pushing me into the present. It’s not him. That would be impossible. I shake my head. “Yes. I’m sorry. You just look…” I exhale a breath. “It’s nothing. Have a seat.”
A slow smile curls his lips into a devilish smirk. “I have that effect on women.”
A prickling sensation webs across my skin. His energy is alive and real and dominates every molecule in this room. I can feel it pressing against me…this invasive force, tearing at me from the inside out.
Carter Hensley is a field of dark energy ripping my universe apart at the seams.
Intake
Ellis
It’s taken nearly eight years, but a ghost from my past has finally resurfaced to torment me in the form of a beautiful boy with pale-blue eyes and sinful lips.
Polarizing emotions war within me, tearing me in two. Part of me wants to touch him, feel that he’s real. The other part is screaming to run—leave Black Mountain behind and all the toxic memories of the past.
I collect myself enough to verbalize a sentence. “I apologize, Mr. Hensley, but I think we need to reschedule this session.”
He drives a hand through his mop of dark hair, and that single action sets off an onslaught of emotions, sending a tidal wave of nostalgia crashing over me.
I’m sixteen all over again. Helplessly and naively drawn to the boy with a wicked smile.
“Sure,” he says, nonchalant. He starts to stand, then halts midway, those intense eyes pinning me. “Did I do something…?”
I release a weighty sigh. As much as his presence causes me pain, I can’t deny that the pain feels criminally good. Like the satisfaction that comes from scratching a rash of poison ivy. Keeping him close is a bad, bad idea—and yet: “No, absolutely not,” I say. “It’s my first day and—”
“And my file is too intense for a first day.” He raises his eyebrows knowingly. “I get it. I’m surprised they even let me in this school. My dad probably promised to build a new gym or library or some shit. Just so he wouldn’t have to deal with me.”
I tilt my head as I study him. He’s nothing like the boy who previously sat in that chair. I can see that Carter is articulate, and he’s willing to talk about his home life, something that takes most people more than one session to open up about.
“Are you sure you’re only eighteen?” I ask.
He chuckles, and the deep baritone of his voice slides pleasurably over my skin. “Yeah. Why? Is that going to be a problem?”
Shame settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock. I’m supposed to be listening to him, helping him. Not dissecting him.
I mute my phone and flip it over. My action states that I’m here for him; his time is important to me. “My lack of ability to deal with a first day has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”
He cocks his head, studying me just as intently. “This isn’t just your first day. It’s your first job. You’re new at this. I’d be nervous, too.”
A smile flits across my lips. “What makes you think I’m new at this?”
His gaze travels over me leisurely, deliberately. From the collar of my black blazer, to the breast pocket of my white blouse, down to my sleeve cuff. It’s too scrutinizing for a person of his age, and I feel as if his lingering stare is a physical touch branding my skin.
“You don’t look like a teacher.”
I clear my throat. “That’s an accurate assessment,” I say, “seeing as I’m not a teacher.”
“I mean, you’re young. Really young. Early twenties probably.” He leans back in the chair, confidence radiating off of him.
Every word…every action… I have to remind myself that he is not Jeremy Rivers.
His smile widens, revealing a pop of dimples in his cheeks. I avert my eyes to my laptop as heat flushes my face.
“You’re way too attractive also,” he says, raising his hands in mock innocence when my gaze darts his way. “I’m not trying to be…inappropriate? Is that the word?”
“That’s exactly the word,” I say, enforcing a hint of sternness in my voice.
“Political correctness aside, it’s obvious that you’re beautiful. I’ve seen my fair share of guidance counselors and psychologists, and none of them ever made me hot like you do.”
The floor beneath me all but disappears. I’m being swallowed by space and time, and reality ceases to make sense. I reach for some semblance of bearings to ground myself, and adopt an awkwardly forced smile.
One thing is clear: this boy is trouble. It takes a few seconds for his charms to subside before I see the play for what it is.
“Let’s talk about that,” I say, shifting the focus back onto him. “How long have you been in therapy, Mr. Hensley?”
There’s a fleeting moment where his smile falters, and he realizes I’m not so easily gamed. Then his bravado recovers. “Started freshman year. So, if it’s not too rude to ask, how old are you, Ms. Montgomery?”
He’s deflecting. Oddly enough, this is within my realm of normal, comfortable. I can handle—and prefer to handle—a young man deflecting his emotions. “I’m your elder,” I say, making a note on his digital file. “That’s old enough. Are you questioning my capabilities because of my age?”
“No, ma’am. I think you’re completely capable.” I watch him smirk from my peripheral. “I’m not trying to frazzle you—”
“Yes, you are.” I stop typing and turn toward him. “And that’s okay. I’m not upset, or frazzled. I understand why you’d try to make me feel uncomfortable. It’s probably worked on others before. So they’d drop your case. Kick you out. Stop trying to help you.”
His features shift, his mouth hardens into a thin line. He says nothing in response. Instead, he focuses on straightening his necktie.
“I’m not going to stop trying to help you,” I hear myself say, and realize I mean it. “No matter what. I’m new and fresh, as you’ve pointed out, and have many years ahead in this field before I’m worn down by young men like you.” I let a smug smile grace my lips.
He stops fidgeting with his tie and peeks up. “So, there is the possibility of wearing you down?”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What if I come in here and ask you out every session?” he presses.
A laugh slips free, and I quickly recover. “I won’t cave,” I say, schooling my facial muscles. “That’s against school policy, obviously, and it’d be a gross misconduct on my part. You’re my patient. And a minor.”
“I’m eighteen,” he reminds me.
“And yet, that changes nothing.”
His gaze levels with mine. “If you don’t tell me your age, I’ll have to start guessing.”