Under Study (Practice Makes Perfect Book 3), page 6
He nods, eyes on me. “There is no wrong thing.”
“Yes, there is.”
He waits.
And waits.
Damn him.
“If I say the wrong thing, you’ll tell my parents,” I blurt. “They sent me here. They’re paying for this.” I may be twenty one years old, a fully grown woman, but I made the mistake of letting my overly controlling parents pay my tuition. I’ll still be dancing to their tune for another year–if I want to finish my degree, anyway.
Some days that feels more worth it than others.
“I don’t report on my sessions,” the man says, his voice calm and deep. “Unless you plan on confessing to a crime, nothing you say will leave this room.”
A crime. Okay. Does that include climbing out of my dorm window in the middle of the night? It broke campus rules, sure, but the law?
I guess I did damage that window screen. Shit.
“Your late night adventure does not warrant a call to the police.” The man’s mouth twitches. “In case you were wondering.”
I splutter. This asshole! Sitting there, with his bottomless gaze and his stupid sexy beard and his bookcase of fancy leather hardbacks behind him. I bet he doesn’t even read them. “See, you do know. You know everything already.”
The man hums. Dr Sterling, I remember suddenly. It’s a sharp name. It suits him.
“I don’t know the most important thing, Kennedy. I don’t know why.”
Ah, yeah. Why did I break that window screen by scrambling out of my second floor bedroom at 2am and jumping into a tree? Why did I climb down in the old, baggy t-shirt and sweatpants I wear for pajamas, then set off to wander around campus like a ghost?
If I knew, maybe I’d tell him.
“Why does anyone do anything?” I say airily, leaning back in my chair. Maybe I can bullshit my way through these sessions. “Don’t you ever do something impulsive, Dr Sterling?”
“Rarely.” He tilts his head, still staring, and my attempt to flip things around has failed miserably. I’m a fly under his microscope. “But this is not about me.”
I wish it wasn’t about me, either. I’m chatty out there in the real world, sure, but not about my private shit. I don’t bare my soul to any passing stranger. No one would know anything about my secret late night jaunts if campus security hadn’t caught me.
“Your parents are worried about you,” Dr Sterling offers.
I snort. “Try again.”
He keeps talking like I never spoke. “Should they be, Kennedy? Should people be worried about you?”
What a question. Should people be worried about me?
I mean, sure. In a general sense. Maybe it’s needy of me, but I’d like to feel a modicum of concern from someone out there. But my parents?
“Nope. I’m good, thank you.”
Dr Sterling nods, expression thoughtful. “And yet you are committed to these sessions.”
“I don’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter.”
“Indeed.”
The silence stretches between us, punctuated by the tick, tick, tick of the small clock resting on the bookcase. I point over his shoulder. “Do you ever read those?”
Dr Sterling smiles. “Sometimes.”
“And why did you want to be a therapist?”
His smile widens. “I’m not sure you understand how this works, Kennedy.”
Oh, I understand alright. This guy gets paid a boatload of money to sit there and–and pry. To tease out my secrets and then judge me for them. No thank you, mister.
“What’s the weirdest problem you’ve ever heard?”
Tick, tick, tick goes the clock. Counting down this endless session. Dr Sterling sighs and settles deeper into his chair, plucking a pen off the desk and rolling it between his fingers, and it’s like he finally realizes that this is going to suck for him, too. I won’t come easy, damn it. He’ll never take me alive!
“I am very clearly not going to divulge that information.”
I guess not. And whatever it is, I get this weird, swooping urge to beat it–to offer him something even more bat-shit crazy to refuse to tell anyone else. If only my life was more exciting… but I’ll try.
“I got attacked by an alpaca once, at a petting zoo as a kid. It charged me down, right in front of the other preschoolers.”
A short pause. Then–
“Fine.” Dr Sterling tosses his pen onto the desk and leans forward, pinning me with those stern eyes. I shift in my seat, shivers rippling up my limbs.
Oh god, that stare. Those shoulders. The rich timbre of his voice. This man is so potent, he could be weaponized. Whole nations would kneel at his feet.
“You win, Kennedy. Let’s start with the alpaca.”
* * *
Check out The Shrink, or go straight to the Kephart College complete series box set!
xxx
About the Author
Cassie writes outrageous, OTT insta-love with tons of sugar and spice. She loves cookie dough, summer barbecues, and her gorgeous cat Missy.
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Cassie Mint, Under Study (Practice Makes Perfect Book 3)
