He laughed, happy to see her playing along instead of locking him out. “An army of manservants servicing the illustrious Dr. McCray, huh?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Too bad for you, you’ll never know. Only I get to be in my head, which is my point in the first place.”
“Right. I’m not allowed in. I get it.” He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him, surprised and pleased that she didn’t resist. “But my guess is those orgies of men aren’t serving the good doctor. They’re holding her down and doing hot, depraved things to her. Forcing her past where she thinks she wants to go. Making her feel used and helpless.”
Elle wet her lips, the pupils of her eyes dilating a bit, letting him know that he’d hit the right nail.
He reached up and pushed her damp hair off her forehead. “See, maybe I can get in there just a little bit.” Her lips parted, no doubt to protest, but he pressed his fingers against her mouth. “That’s not me trying to screw with you, doc. I only know what’s in there because it’s in mine, too.”
She moved his hand away. “Manservants?”
“No. Dark fantasies. Some anger mixed up in the sex. Desires that most people don’t get. Things that could get you in trouble if done with someone who doesn’t understand it.” He let out a breath, dropping his own guard. “Feeling a little fucked up about it because you can’t tell how much is you and how much is what other people have done to you.”
Her eyes met his at that, some of her usual shields falling away for a moment. “You think I’m like this because of my husband.”
A statement, not a question. He was careful not to break the eye contact, the moment feeling tenuous. “I don’t know enough to say. But I’m guessing you didn’t always need this level of impersonal sex. Just like I didn’t start out wanting so much control. I didn’t crave it until all of it was taken from me over and over again.”
Her mouth curved downward, something akin to concern in her expression.
He pressed on. “We were both humiliated and maybe reacted in different ways. And who knows, maybe we each
had a tendency to be kinky or whatever from the start. But we’ll never know, right? So it always feels a little wrong, like what we’re enjoying was created by the very people or experiences we hated so much.”
Her shoulders sagged with a long, slowly released breath. “Ugh. How did we end up on the goddamned therapy couch? We both promised.”
He gave her a grim smile. “Because you’re a doctor at a mental health hospital and I’m a wannabe therapist?”
“A going-to-be, not wannabe.”
He looked away at that, the words like a bucket of ice water over his head. One of the reasons he’d been drawn to come here tonight was to distract himself. He didn’t want to think about the paper he wasn’t going to be able to fix or the form he had in his car that would withdraw him from all his classes. He’d considered his professor’s suggestion. But every time he’d tried to get himself to go to the learning center, he’d felt sick to his stomach, remembering all the times in high school that he’d ended up in the counselor’s office, getting talked down to like he was stupid. He’d decided he wasn’t meant for a degree. He was doing just fine with his current job. “Not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat, trying to force the words out. “I’m dropping out of my program. I’m too busy with everything at The Grove right now. So a wannabe, I’ll remain.”
“Wait. Hold up. You said you were working on a paper all week.”
Lane lifted his gaze to find her wearing a deep frown. “I was trying to fit everything in and realized I couldn’t. The paper’s not going to get finished. It’s not a big deal.”
She stepped out of his hold and eyed him in that way that made him think she’d missed her calling as a high school principal. “It is a big deal, actually.”
His defenses went up. “What? Don’t sleep with men who don’t have fancy letters behind their names?”
She scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. You know that’s not what I’m saying. Do you know what percentage of people who drop out of college actually go back?”
“I’m not a statistic. I dropped out of high school and got a GED years later when no one expected I could. I’ll go back when the timing is better.” The last part rolled off his tongue. A lie to her. A lie to himself.
She scrutinized him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together. He turned his back to her to open the medicine cabinet in search of a spare toothbrush, avoiding her reflection in the mirror.
“Does this have anything to do with you getting referred to the Learning Services Center?”
Lane stilled and his hand gripped the edge of her sink. “What?”
She crossed her arms, her reflection misted in the glass. “When you accosted me at the café, you dropped something on your way out. It was a referral to test for learning disabilities.”
Heat tracked up the back of his neck and flooded his face. He turned around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Lane.”