Page 28 of Dreamscape Therapies

“Yeah, well…” He pushes his beans around his plate. “That connection turned into a fucking nightmare.”

I want to reach across the table and take his hand. Tell him none of it was his fault.

But I don't.

I can't.

“I'm glad you got out,” I say instead.

“Me too.” He finally looks at me, and there's something raw in his eyes. “Thanks for not being weird about it.”

“Why would I be weird about it?”

“I don't know.” He shrugs. “Some people hear kink community and immediately start making assumptions.”

We finish our meals, but the conversation doesn't stop. Our eyes linger. The teasing gets softer. The pauses get longer. And I catch myself staring at his mouth when he talks.

Which is a problem.

A very big problem.

Because I'm his fucking therapist and I have a professional obligation to help him and not flirt with him.

I shouldn’t be staring at his mouth wondering what his lips would look like after I kiss him.

When we’re done with dinner, I pay for dinner, ignoring Vincent’s argument. He insists he’ll get the tab next time, and my stomach flutters irrationally.

The drive back passes much faster than the trip into town, and before I know it, we're pulling into my driveway. The Faeries are gone for the night, the house sitting quiet beneath the cold winter stars.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say as I unbuckle my seat belt.

“You paid.”

“I know, but it was still a good time.”

He smiles, small but happy.

I get out of the car before I can do something stupid like kiss his soft lips or run my fingers through his unruly hair.

After I close the door, I lean down so I can meet his eyes through the open window. “When you get home tonight, try not to fall asleep before calming your mind.”

“No promises.” His voice is petulant. The shadows beneath his eyes are dark.

He's still exhausted and possibly hurting, but he's smiling.

“It's going to get better,” I tell him.

He stares straight ahead over the steering wheel, then nods.

I don't think he believes me yet.

“Call me if you have another night terror.” His gaze jerks toward me. “I'll help you through the aftereffects.”

His expression softens. “Okay.”

Then, almost reverently, he says, “Thank you, Dr. Kim.”

“Please.” I smile. “Call me Jay.”