The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill
Sixteen
Kendall
That Katy Perry song keeps running through my head. Except in my case, I didn’t kiss a girl. I kissed the one and only person most forbidden for me to kiss. My goddamn freaking client.
How did I even let myself get into this mess?
Oh, yeah. I swooned and let myself get caught up in the moment.
Why did I even bother taking an oath in the first place when I became a psychologist if I’m just going to piss it all away by falling for my handsome patient?
Self-loathing and anger fill me with a desperate rage I’ve never experienced before. I’m not thinking straight or clearly as I rush up toward the main gates of the park, practically throwing the rented knee and shoulder pads at the teenage attendant, who looks more than a little scared of me as I rush past her into the parking lot where due to my own stupidity, I have to wait for the Uber to pick me up.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
All because I let Zeke show off for me when he drove us here on his motorcycle. And I swooned again.
Apparently, bad boys who play basketball and dare me to jump from terrifying heights are suddenly now my thing. The intoxicating and, let’s face it, dangerous aspect of being with Zeke today had me throwing caution to the wind and doing things I never would have done otherwise. He had me so spun up that I literally lost my sense of direction.
I pitch forward and place my hands on my knees to catch my breath and bring my heartrate down. Images of Zeke flash through my head and I try to disassociate the man I know as my client from the man I met up with on Heart and Soul.
They’re one and the same, but from parallel universes for all I’m concerned.
I remember the first time Zeke walked in my office. Bold, cocky, and full of defiance. The sheer masculine beauty he possessed stole my breath away. I knew it then—he would be my undoing. Like the small snag in a sweater, he would slowly unravel me.
And don’t get me started on the fierce protectiveness he exhibited at the coffee shop when he stepped in to defend my honor. Honestly, even now, it has my pulse racing and my panties wet from how hot I found that behavior. Sure, I scolded him for that unnecessary display of machoism, but deep down, it got me all hot and bothered. I liked it.
But Zeke is also the same man who during countless conversations on the app chat found ways to maneuver between lighthearted fun one moment and seriously sexy the next. Each time, I grabbed on and wanted more from him. He hit me deep and shook me to the core.
I hear him calling my name, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. I’m scared if I look at him, or let him state his case, it will tear my resolve into shreds like confetti paper falling to the ground.
When he finally reaches me, I avoid his gaze, keeping my head down and eyes on my phone, where I work to order an Uber. Zeke isn’t even out of breath and I’m panting like a pig at a barbeque.
“Kendall, don’t run off. Please, we’ll figure this out. I don’t want you to feel guilty about what we did. I don’t ever want you to feel ashamed about that kiss.”
Zeke’s fingers gently pluck the phone from my hands and then lock around my wrists, placing my palms together in a prayer position, clutching them reverently to his chest. Solemnly. With hopeful intent.
“Listen, I know I’m not easy to be with. Outside of my basketball skills, I’m a mess.” He chuckles ruefully, absently stroking the backside of my hand with a thumb. “I won’t blame you for walking away. I probably wouldn’t date me either if I were you and I knew what a headcase I am.”
My eyes flash with disappointment. “Zeke, is that what you think? That I won’t date you because of your issues?”
He gives me a pensive look that tears my heart in two. “Well, yeah. You know how much trouble I am, and the state my life is in right now. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably get the hell out of this as fast as I could, too.”
Flipping free from his grasp, I cover my palms over his overly large hands, squeezing tight in the same manner. “Zeke, that’s not it at all. The only reason I can’t date you is because you’re my client. It violates the standards of practice. It’s not only seen as manipulative and unfair to you, but it’s unethical. It pushes the boundaries too far because of the intimate knowledge I have of you from our sessions. I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you, period.”
I drop my hands from his and rub at my temple; the pressure from the highs and the lows of today have brought on one hell of a headache. The thought that my entire career could be in jeopardy because of this one stupid and reckless decision causes my own anxiety levels to skyrocket.
His eyes flit over my face and land on my lips as the edges of his mouth tip up into a knowing smirk. I crinkle my forehead, wondering what he could possibly find so amusing about this situation.
“Is this funny to you? I assure you, Zeke, it is not.” I yank my hands away and check my phone, which indicates my car is set to arrive in three minutes.
Zeke shakes his head, but his eyes flash with something peculiar and mischievous.
“Nope. Not funny in the slightest. It’s actually very sad.” He tightens his lips into a flat line and glances off into the distance. “Because I guess this means I won’t see you again when I get back.”
Shock and confusion register in my head as to what he means, but I seem to be able to only respond to the fact that he’s leaving. “What? Get back from where?”
He pulls out his phone and checks his calendar, flipping it around to show me his schedule.
“I’ll be in Atlanta the next two weeks volunteering with the youth basketball program my buddy, Rashad, runs every year. During my absence, you’ll write your summary report that Marek requested and he’ll either agree to allow me back on the team or require me to attend additional therapy. But either way, I won’t be returning to your office when I get back.”
My heart plummets as my lips part slightly on a gasp. “Oh no, Zeke. Please don’t stop your therapy because of me and this situation between us. That’s exactly the type of conflict I wanted to avoid.”
He smiles, placing his hands on top of my shoulders, shaking his head innocently. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll continue therapy, regardless of the outcome of Marek’s terms. But I’m finding another doctor to replace you. Because, as of this moment, you’re fired, Dr. Rush.”
Fired.
I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been relieved and happy to have those words directed at me. Even though they don’t make any difference.
I’d calledKerry the moment I got in the back seat of the Uber car and told her I was coming over. This entire situation was too much of a burden for me to work through on my own. I had to let it out and Kerry was my lifelong sounding board.
“Where are my angels?” I shout through the large open foyer of Kerry and Brendan’s home as I enter through the front door.
The noise of kids’ feet clomping down the hall sounds like a herd of elephants on the loose and Celeste and Conrad round the corner, each vying to be first, and come into view.
I bend down and throw my arms wide, capturing both kids in a bear hug as they barrel into my chest, nearly knocking me over. Their laughter and giggles are a warm welcome and an elixir to my aching heart.
I plant kisses on the tops of their heads as they both begin talking at once.
“We’re making cookies!” Celeste rejoices excitedly.
“Will you sign my cast?” Conrad asks, presenting me with the blue taped arm cast that has already been colored on by his baby sister, based on the flowers and rainbow drawn on in colorful marker.
I give Celeste a meaningful look and follow it up with, “Yum. Where’s my taste?” And then I turn to Conrad and smile broadly at his eager hopefulness.
Not so dissimilar to Zeke’s hopefulness that I squashed when I left today.
“Of course, I will. Let’s go into the kitchen so we can do both. Lead the way.”
I watch as they scamper off down the hallway, my heart going pitter-patter with the love I feel inside for these kids. They may not be my own children, but they’ve owned me since the day they were born. It makes me yearn for the day when I have a child of my own.
An overwhelming sadness creeps in out of nowhere, hitting me square in the chest and knocking the wind out of me. After today’s adventure, I’m ready to give up on the dating and marriage route. Maybe trying to fit my life into the traditional box isn’t in the cards for me. I’m more convinced than ever that I should start the IVF treatment.
I get to my feet and head down the hallway into their brightly lit chef’s kitchen, where I find Kerry talking into an earbud while scooping off cookies from the tray. With a lift of her eyebrow, she waves a spatula in the air and smiles, continuing on with her multi-tasking.
“No, I told Sandra that we were limiting the guest list to fifty. The event space isn’t big enough to accommodate any more than that.”
She mouths, “It’s Karen” before scowling.
That explains it. Karen and Sandra are our mother’s sisters who have both been adamant about being involved in the planning of the anniversary party. Both women are extremely vocal about their opinions and still treat us like we’re children.
“Mmm-hmm. Yes, we are getting a DJ. And catered food, too.” She pauses and her reply comes out as snippy. “No, we aren’t having an open bar. If you and Sandra want one, you’ll have to pay for it. Listen, I’ve got to go. I have cookies baking. I’ll call you next week.”
She shakes her head and gives me a look that says, “I most definitely will not call her back next week.”
I take a seat at the kitchen island and reach over to grab a fresh-out-of-the-oven peanut butter chocolate chip cookie as she playfully smacks my hand away. Taking a big bite, I moan at the deliciousness.
When she finally ends the call, Kerry shoves her phone in her shorts pocked and yanks at her hair with a quiet scream.
“Oh, my God, they are driving me batshit crazy! How did I get stuck with all the planning?”
I laugh, sneaking another cookie after devouring the first one.
“I don’t know? Maybe because you live for this shit?”
“Pfft,” she snorts, grabbing a cookie sheet already lined with dough and places them in the oven. She sets a timer, washes her hands at the sink, and plops down on the stool next to me with an eager expression. “So? How’d it go? Are you in love and ready to have his babies?”
My head falls forward, plunking against the cold granite of the counter and I cover my head with my hands. A noise that sounds like a dying whale pulls from my throat.
“My Mountain Man turned out to be Zeke Forester.”
She’s quiet for a moment and I turn my neck, peeking through the slots of my fingers still covering my eyes to watch her expression as she puts two and two together.
“Wait, the basketball player on the Pilots’? That Zeke Forester? Holy dating app jackpot, he’s ridiculously hot!” She claps her hands in excited glee and then leans over and whispers conspiratorially. “I bet he has some great stamina. I also heard tall men have…”
I whip my arm out and firmly slap a hand over her mouth to stop her from going any further. Her giggle is more like a cackle over her own dirty comment. When I release my hand, I give her an added flick of her chin with my finger.
“I won’t ever find out,” I mutter dejectedly. “Because he’s my client.”
I guess I finally found a way to shut my sister up.