“No one’s perfect, Gia.”
“Well, you act like you are. Like you see all of us as weak.”
My mouth parts with surprise, but I recover quickly. Defensiveness is common in my patients, and so is resentment toward non-alcoholics. And I get it.
“I’ve got plenty of flaws,” I say. “It’s hard to see that in an environment where you guys have to open up and speak about painful, difficult situations and I don’t. But believe me, I struggle with things, too.”
“Like what?” Gia arches her brows in challenge. “What color sweater to wear? Whether to have coffee or tea? Poor little privileged girl.”
Anger rises inside me, and I fight it, taking a couple seconds to form a measured answer.
“I didn’t grow up privileged. Far from it.”
“What’s your story, then?”
I take a deep breath before saying, “We’re not here for me to tell my story.”
“I’ll tell it, then. You’re a doctor with no life who tells people what’s wrong with them for a living. You sit in judgment of all of us and it’s bullshit.”
“I’m not here to judge, Gia.”
“You get to decide if I’m recovered enough to get my inheritance.”
I clench my hand around the pen I’m holding. “I decide if you complete this program. And ultimately, that’s up to you, not me. Drop the attitude and put in the work and you can make it.”
“You don’t like me,” Gia says flatly. “I want a different therapist.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“I don’t care if I have to pay double the price, I want someone else.”
“You mean a man? Someone you think you can manipulate to get what you want?”
“Fuck you.” Gia shoots me a death glare before getting up and storming out of the room.
I sigh softly. “We’ll stop here for today, guys. If anyone wants some one-on-one time, I’ll be around until this evening.”
“She’s an absolute brat,” Melinda says, shaking her head.
I agree, but I can’t say so. I also don’t have it in me to remind her we don’t judge.
After reading the patient files for this session, I knew Gia would be a challenge. She’s been using sex to get her way since she was a teenager, according to her file. And she doesn’t want to be here. I have a supervisor I talk to about problem patients, and I’m going to need to have a sit-down with her about Gia.
Alexei finds my eyes and gives me a quick smile as he leaves the group room. My heartbeat kicks into an uneven rhythm and I inwardly scold myself.
I can’t be attracted to a patient. It’s wrong on every level. I’m here to help Alexei get sober, not stare at his muscles. And it’s really unlike me to do that. I’ve always been completely professional.
Once I’m alone in the room, I take out my phone and open one of the dating apps Amelia and I installed on my phone.
3 new messages.
That’s three possible men I can be attracted to instead of Alexei. I’ll read the messages tonight and respond to anyone with potential. And I won’t google a certain hockey player to watch clips of him playing in games or being interviewed. That was a one-time thing.
It’s been a very long time since I had a man in my life. Clearly I need to work on that, so I can get Alexei Petrov off my mind. I can’t let my attraction to him continue, or worse—deepen.8AlexeiGraysen doesn’t look up from her phone when I walk into her office for our one-on-one session. She looks immersed in something, her legs crossed and her long blond curls spilling down her chest from being tucked over one shoulder.
I should say something to let her know I’m here, but instead, I glance over her shoulder to get a look at her phone.
“Love Lines?” I arch my brows with curiosity. “Haven’t heard of that one.”
“Oh God.” Color rises up her neck to her cheeks as she immediately closes the dating app and shoves the phone into her bag. “I wasn’t—I mean, that was nothing.”
I sit down on the couch across from the chair she always sits in, placing my water bottle on the coffee table in front of me. “Hey, it’s cool. I’m a dating app guy myself.”
“I’m not—I’ve never used one before but my roommate convinced me.” She won’t even look me in the eye. “Anyway, it’s nothing. How are you doing today?”
I sit back on the couch, enjoying her embarrassment a little too much. Graysen is used to being in control during our sessions. I have to expose things I never thought I’d tell anyone, while she listens and takes notes. It’s kinda nice to turn the tables for once.
“I was thinking last night,” I tell her. “We usually meet alone for at least sixty minutes a day, and then group is at least ninety minutes. I talk about me to you all the time. Can’t we talk about you for five minutes?”