“Knock yourself out.”
I’m flirting, my inner voice scolds. I need to stop this.
He sits forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on the arms. My gaze is drawn to his exposed forearms. “I’d say twenty-two…but that wouldn’t give you enough time to graduate college.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying not to give in to his deliberate attempt to unnerve me. “What were the fights about in your last school?”
This question throws him a bit, and he pushes back in the seat. “That was then,” he says. “I had a few issues with some guys, but that’s over. I’m here now. Fresh start. Same as you.”
His comment knocks me mentally off balance, and I catch myself staring at him, my hands shaking against the laptop keyboard. “Who did you hear that from?”
What does he know? Why is he here?
His features contort in confusion. “Hear what?”
Fresh start. An innocent remark. Of course, I’m overreacting. His attempt to get under my skin is working. I’m the adult. I’m the trained counselor.
I close my eyes, calm my breathing. “Nothing. I think we’re getting off to the wrong start.”
“You’re right. We should’ve met outside of school. Like a meet cute in a bookstore, or a coffee shop. Then I would’ve flirted with you there—and not inappropriately in your office—and I would have asked for your number.” He grins at me. “And you would’ve given it to me.”
I can’t help it; I laugh out right. “That is a very bold and cocky statement.”
He shrugs, then crosses his arms. “I feel it. Don’t you? That we have something between us, Ms. Montgomery?”
The air becomes dense, heavy with the weight of his stare. I don’t blink; I hold his deliberate gaze across the desk, and feel the moment the air crackles. A current of electricity travels between us, proving his statement true.
It takes all my willpower to look away. I focus on the laptop screen, not really seeing it. I’m the first to move, but only because I need to place my hand out of sight. I curl my fingers into a ball and press my nails into my palm. I feel my skin split.
I release a strained breath. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
His smile is back. Challenge sparks in his eyes. “No, ma’am. I’m going to make it very, very hard.”
I arch an eyebrow. “All right. On that note, let’s tackle at least one of the questions on the questionnaire, so that we achieve something valuable during our first session. And I want you to answer it honestly.”
“I’ll give you anything you ask,” he says.
Right. I firm up my resolve and click open a new tab on his file. Years of study, schooling, training…and none of it prepared me for Carter Hensley. I have to regain control.
“To you,” I start, “what is the difference between aggression and violence?”
“Serious answer?” he asks.
I nod. “Please.”
He runs his palms over his slacks, ironing out the creases, as he considers the question. “Aggression is a response to an action, and violence is the action.”
I feel my forehead furrow as I chase my thoughts. I don’t know how to respond, or what to think. There’s a magnetic pull that tugs from the center of my chest, urging me toward him—a powerful draw that, no matter how badly I want to, I can’t ignore.
“Am I close?” he asks, a crooked smile tilting his mouth.
I clear my throat and break eye contact with him. “Yes. That was a very astute answer.”
“What do I win? Can I name my prize?”
I swivel my chair to the left and pull open a desk drawer. I rifle through my emergency stash and select my favorite, then toss him the candy bar. I smile smugly.
He holds it up. “This wasn’t the candy I had in mind.” Before I can respond, he stands and leans over the desk, his face too close to mine. “I have time, though. I’ll get what I want in the end.”
I’m not thinking clearly; I’ve lost all rational thought. That has to be the reason why I inch closer to him and say: “What if I get what I want first?”
His gaze lowers, long black lashes brush his cheeks, as his eyes settle on my lips, then rove slowly over my features to meet my gaze. “Then we’ll both be very satisfied.”
On impulse, I lick my lips—then immediately draw back. “I need to ask you about the incident last year.”
That pale-blue gaze rakes over my features ravenously. “I told you, I’ll give you anything you ask for, hot girl.”
He’s staring at me like a predator stares down its prey. One slight move from me could trigger the wrong course of action. I breathe evenly, every inhalation a burden for my constricted chest.
“I’m officially advising you to refer to me as Ms. Montgomery, Mr. Hensley.”
“Carter,” he says, stressing his point. He drags a thumb across his bottom lip as he moves back toward his seat. He tosses the candy bar on the desk. “Besides, I’m sure you read the report. What else is there to know?”
I inhale a shaky breath, my skin blazing. “Your side,” I say, finding my bearings. “There’s always two sides to a story. I want your version.”
He arches one dark eyebrow. “Version, or truth? They’re two different things.”
A cautious smile slips over my lips. “I happen to agree. So, are you going to tell me your truth?”
He chuckles. “You’re so clever.” He slaps the armchair, making a spectacle before he says, “Do you ever feel numb?”
I roll my shoulders to loosen the stiffness coiling my body, then lift my chin. “How do you mean?”
He cocks his head, dimples straining against his tense jawline. “Like there’s a layer covering you that, no matter what you do, you can’t feel anything fully. Then it becomes frustrating, that dullness, as if every interaction and every action you’re fighting some gauzy web that mutes the world.”
I stay silent, every fiber of my being tangled with his words and those troubled blue eyes.
“That’s what happened,” he says, shrugs. “I punched Jerad Harding for being a dick, then I kept punching him to beat away the dullness.”
Gaze steady with his, I don’t blink. “Did it work?” When his brow creases, I clarify: “Did nearly beating this boy to death make you feel?”
A crooked smile twists his mouth. “It didn’t make me feel any less.”
We stay locked in this stare, neither one of us knowing the next move, until I break eye contact to glance at the clock above the door. “I think that concludes our first session.” I turn toward the laptop and type, making myself busy, so I won’t look at him again as he leaves the office. “Please schedule your follow up session with Ms. Jansen for next week.”
He rises from the seat silently. Then: “What if I want to see you before then?”
Hands hovering over the keys, I focus on the pulse in my palms, the fresh cuts from my nails. This is real. “You’re only required one session a week and—” I meet his eyes “—I feel that’s enough.”
He moves so quickly, I barely have time to push my chair away from the desk before he’s latched on to the arms, caging me in. “Just so we’re on the same page, Ms. Montgomery, there’s no gauzy web when I look at you.” He raises a hand to touch my face…but halts right before, letting the dare hang between us. “I hope that doesn’t scare you.”