I was going to name this chapter Velveeta for my love of Macaroni but I thought that would be sorta Cheesy.
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Tilda adjusted her skirt, tucking the hem just below her knee, and cleared her throat for her patient's attention. His bedroom eyes were focused on the crack separating her crossed legs. Jeffery Anderson was an entitled prick and Dr. Sutton had warned her he had a temper. He hadn't mentioned he was attractive. His squared jaw was proof he could be explosive, but other than that, the man was far too handsome and somewhat approachable. If only she could get him to talk to her. The dead airwaves were coming from a question about his parents.
"How about we change the subject and return to your father, mm... later."
Tilda jotted a line across her notepad, tallying the times he looked into her eyes, next to another count of his clenched fists.
"You're a quiet person, I understand, but your court ordered sessions will not go away without your cooperation."
Jeff finally slumped as if he surrendering from the threat, "I have a therapist, I don't want or need another one. No offense."
"None taken, but Ryan West has had his license suspended for quite awhile now."
"Well, he's better than most and I've been Talking with him for three fucking weeks now. I have someone to talk to. But no, that isn't good enough. They expect me to talk to a fucking stranger." Jeff rubbed his nose, growing annoyed.
"You can not pick your therapist when a Judge issues a court order, Mr. Anderson. That's just the law. And nobody is above the law," Tilda recorded his left fist clench, and continued, "How does that make you feel, not being in control?"
His mouth opened with a begrudging smile, squinting his eyes, "It's not about control. I feel like I am starting over."
"Well, I assure you the conversations you have with your own guidance professional will count in the long run."
Jeff shook his head, "How long do I have to do this?"
"How's your relationship with your wife?"
"What?"
"Does She often ask you to do things you don't want to do?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Tilda adjusted her paperwork, growing nervous, "Let's start small. I want to get a picture of your daily life, you explained you have stress at work, so-"
"I have stress running a goddamn business. Try that instead of running your mouth trying to get in people's heads," Jeff frowned as she scribbled, her pale pink nails grazing the notepad, "How much does a girl like you get paid doing this," he mimicked her prissy finger motions.
Tilda was far from a girl but didn't mind the flattery, however inappropriate. She cleared Her throat, reciting her next question as she had practiced at her desk an hour ago. She looked at the clock to see only fifteen minutes had passed.
"You ask people these questions all day, for what?"
"It's my job."
"Do you like it?"
"I love it."
Nosy bitch, Jeff thought, keeping his attention on her flat feet, "You love it?"
"My job, yes. I-I've built relationships With my clients; the ones who choose me."
"And the ones that don't?"
"I am trying to make this as painless as possible. This is a six week program, three if you had time for another session this week."
"Oh, I have all the time in the world according to Judge Lewis."
Tilda shook her leg, regretting the act when his eyes roamed over her calves. Although she did not write it down, she made a mental note to wear dress pants at the next appointment. She had no idea he would unnerve her. She tapped her fingers across her arms, covering her chest.
"What are you doing after this?"
"Excuse me?" Tilda dropped her nervous tick.
Jeff smiled, the first genuine display since he had sat down, "Maybe we can find a nice spot downtown, get out of this stuffy office, and talk. I'll let you scribble as much as you want."
Tilda looked straight ahead. Shaking her head, she pulled her legs back and leaned against the armrest with another round of questioning.
"What makes you the happiest?" She leaned her chin against her small fist, "What do you look forward to each day?"
"Money, and..." Jeff smirked, "Other things."
"Are you and your wife intimate regularly?" That hadn't been on her question list, but his proposal and lusty stare caused a blush on her cheeks. But he was merely flirting his way out of a serious talk.
Jeff grabbed his knees and chuckled, "What kind of fucking question is that?"
"A simple one. Are you and Your wife intimate regularly?"
"When is the last time you've been fucked?"
"Mr. Anderson." Tilda placed her palm across her heart.
"See," Jeff smiled, "That is an inappropriate question for me to ask, I am glad we both agree on that. But to answer your same question about my sex life. I left her shaking in my bed last night, if you must know."
"What's your wife's name?"
"Whatever I feel like calling her that day."
"Fair, how long have you been married."
"Seven, no six, months."
"You two are in the honeymoon stage," she smiled, "How did you meet?"
Jeff grabbed his nose and wiggled releasing the tension he felt. A slow rising heat built on his cheeks. He couldn't tell this woman about their relationship. He could imagine her calling the police after that story.
"Mr. Anderson."
"Yeah?"
"How did you two meet? What brought you together."
"This is real life not a goddamn romance novel. I met her at my Store."
Tilda pushed back into the leather cushions, "Alright. So, she worked for you?"
"Still does."
"Hm," Tilda wrote a note of that and looked to find his eyes on her, "Working with a spouse is pleasant I suppose more quality time."
"Yeah."
"Did you have a big wedding?"
"I took her to the court house."
"Hm, Well, How did you spend your honeymoon?"
"I don't remember," Jeff mumbled, "Um, we went to the beach or something maybe."
"Do you often have trouble remembering?"
"Sometimes."
"Is that because you were intoxicated?" Tilda asked.
His lips shifted into a frown before changing positions. Jeff leaned against the couch, exhausted by this conversation.
"We can change the subject. How about we go back to your family life."
