The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill

Six

Kendall

My last client happens to be the most boring man I’ve ever encountered in my ten years of practice. The two cups of coffee I downed right before his visit only left me with a need to pee and did little to keep me awake during his visit.

The moment he left my office, I checked the time and was relieved to see I still had fifteen minutes before my next appointment with Zeke Forester. This will be our fifth session and things are moving along better than I thought they would. Once he came to his own conclusion that he needed help and therapy to resolve his anxiety, he began to open up. That makes me incredibly happy, but I still need a boost of caffeine to get through the remainder of the day.

Grabbing my purse, I rush out of my office and down the street to Beans and Brew, the neighborhood coffee shop where I plan to grab a Grande iced latte and a croissant. My stomach growls as I enter the establishment, busy for this time of day, getting a hit of the bakery scent that lingers like the seductive aroma of sugar lust in the shop. There’s a line at the counter so I glance down at my phone and check the time. I don’t want to run late for my next appointment.

Before I slip my phone back into my purse, I hear the chime notification from the Heart and Soul app. A new message from Mountain Man.

An eager awareness floods my bloodstream with a tingle of excitement. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of nervous energy just from texting with a man. The last was probably Cole, the guy I dated for a year back in college. That seems like a lifetime ago and I’ve had no time since for sentimental romance.

I glance down to read the message. If it’s anything like the last few exchanges from last night, it’ll be fun and flirty. The ready spark of anticipation flickers inside my belly at what his words do to me. If he’s anything like this in real life, I just might swoon.

It begs the question whether a relationship that begins online will translate well from the virtual space into the real world, a thought that’s been lingering in the back of my mind since I started talking with Mountain Man. It’s both intriguing and intimidating.

For me, I’ve never been superficial about looks or appearance. It’s the heart of the man and how they treat others that I find most attractive. Beauty stems from the inside and not the external embodiment. Looks can be deceiving and even dangerous if used as the only measure of value in a partner. A shark might smile, but packs a powerful bite.

That doesn’t discount the value of a physical attraction to a partner. During grad school, I spent quite a bit of time researching marital and couple counseling, as I knew it would be important in my long-term practice. I came to the conclusion that a high level of attraction is a variable and important to intimacy, commitment, and passion in a long-lasting love. Low passion, or companionate love, can certainly be a basis for a long-term relationship, but most loves will fizzle when attraction doesn’t exist. It’s another aspect of human love.

And I want—no, I deserve—both a strong emotional and physical attraction in my romantic relationship. To that end, when and if I do find someone and begin a relationship, the man I’m with must also be committed to me in every way, including wanting to someday have children together.

I’ve held off on sharing this desire with Mountain Man up to this point for fear of pushing too quickly. But I feel we’ve reached a point where I can openly express that desire. I’m about to send a message to him to find out how he views marriage and kids, just to get the question out there, when someone suddenly collides into my shoulder and my phone goes flying out of my hand.

The force of the man’s body throws me off balance and I flail backward and then forward, trying to regain it, reaching out to grab hold of something to steady myself. I end up clasping on to the man’s arm, which sends his hot coffee sloshing over the top and splashing over the front of my pink blouse.

“Jesus Christ, lady. Get off your fucking phone and watch what you’re doing,” the man angrily accosts me with his vitriolic response.

My jaw drops open in disbelief. I glance down at the front of my shirt, which is now soaked and stained brown. His dark angry eyes follow my gaze, and he scoffs. “Look what you made me do. It’s your own fault for not paying attention.”

The wet material sticks to my skin like a Band Aid. My own livid retort gets trapped in my throat, the words dying on my tongue before they cross my lips as I slowly turn an incredulous gaze over my shoulder to watch him stomp through the crowd toward the exit.

The woman in line behind me hands me a several napkins. “Are you okay? God, he was such a jerk.”

I nod, accepting the napkins when a booming noise from the back of the coffee shop draws my attention.

“Hey, asshole! Don’t you dare fucking leave.”

In a blur of dark clothing, someone rushes toward the man trying to exit, grabbing the coffee dumper’s arm to swing him around and stop him from leaving. He then gives the man a heavy shove at his sternum, sending the guy reeling backwards on his heels.

It’s then that I realize who my avenger is, the man standing up to injustice and protecting my honor.

Zeke.

With an outward rage that I’ve never seen him exhibit before, Zeke steps into the guy’s space, jabbing the guy’s shoulder again with a sharp poke.

“Dude, I clearly saw what happened. You need to apologize to the lady right now for bumping into her.”

“What the fuck is it to you, anyhow?” the man asks irately, lifting his head in angry defiance. Then his voice trails off as he gets a good look at who he’s talking to. Mr. Coffee Dumper’s eyes bug out in surprise. “Holy shit. Are you Zeke Forester?”

Zeke nods and drops the guy’s arm. “I am. And that was a complete dick move.”

Zeke nods his chin toward me, the man’s eyes tracking in my direction, his mouth opening and then snapping shut before he mumbles unintelligibly.

“I…uh…I’m late. She wasn’t paying attention.”

The guy has the gall to look affronted, as if he’s the one who was wronged. Zeke crosses his arms in a defensive posture, glaring menacingly down at the man who is arguably a foot shorter than Zeke.

“Mmm, nope. I didn’t ask for an excuse. You need to apologize. She isn’t to blame for your lateness, but you’re at fault for your carelessness. Now, apologize.”

By now, Zeke and the man’s encounter has garnered the attention of everyone in the shop, including the baristas behind the counter, where coffee-making has come to a complete stop in favor of watching what’s going down. Several tables of students have their phones pointed in their direction, capturing the action on video and their live social feeds.

I slowly move toward them, taking slow, cautious steps to avoid getting involved in the fray.

I reach an arm out and place my palm over Zeke’s forearm, his eyes snapping to mine as if he’s seeing me for the first time. I give a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for stepping in, Zeke. Let’s let the guy move along with his day. He’s obviously under a lot of stress and I’m sure this isn’t his typical behavior.” My eyes level the guy with a clear warning. “Because men who treat others, especially women, like that are clearly sociopaths. I’m sure that isn’t the case with you, is it?”

Coffee Dumper stammers, volleying his gaze between me and Zeke, shaking his head. “No, not at all. I’m terribly sorry for spilling on you, ma’am.” He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a twenty, hastily offering it to me like I’m about to bite. “Here. Take it.”

Before I can refuse the offer, Zeke yanks the bill from his grasp and flaps it in the air, roaring out a noise of discontentment.

“Is this a joke?” Zeke scoffs, turning his palm over and wiggling his fingers in the universal sign for more. “You just fucking ruined her shirt, which I’m sure cost more than a measly twenty bucks.”

Zeke’s voice has risen as the entire room watches this incident unfold. With all the phones pointed in our direction, my guess is so is the entire world through social media.

“Zeke, please. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it. Please, just go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

His gaze moves up my torso, holding for a moment at my breasts where the stain spreads and clings to my chest, until his eyes reach my face. With a frown of acquiescence, he grumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Fine, I’ll go.” He whips his head toward douchebag coffee-dumper and pokes him in the chest one last time. “If I ever, and I mean ever, see you in here again, we’re going to have more than words. You feel me, bro?”

The man’s lips quiver but then turn up into a snarl and he hisses, “Sure, whatever, Forester. We all know you’re a hothead and total head case. If you ever so much as try to touch a single hair on my head, I’ll sue you faster than you can say the word Pilots.”

Zeke puffs up his chest and jerks forward suddenly, spooking the man so he wobbles backwards. Zeke snickers unmercifully, looking behind him at the group with their cameras out.

“I hope you guys caught that. I didn’t touch him. What a coward.” He spits at the guy’s feet and turns swiftly toward the door. His gaze latches onto mine one last time before he heads out into the light drizzle of rain.

The entire incident leaves me with a pit of dread in my stomach. It also gives me new insight on Zeke Forester.

What I just witnessed from Zeke here today is a good indicator and significant detail of what might be contributing to some of his mental health issues. Now I have an opportunity to peel back some layers and figure out why he responded the way he did and what’s going on inside his mind.