The floor beneath me all but disappears. I’m being swallowed by space and time, and reality ceases to make sense. I reach for some semblance of bearings to ground myself, and adopt an awkwardly forced smile.
One thing is clear: this boy is trouble. It takes a few seconds for his charms to subside before I see the play for what it is.
“Let’s talk about that,” I say, shifting the focus back onto him. “How long have you been in therapy, Mr. Hensley?”
There’s a fleeting moment where his smile falters, and he realizes I’m not so easily gamed. Then his bravado recovers. “Started freshman year. So, if it’s not too rude to ask, how old are you, Ms. Montgomery?”
He’s deflecting. Oddly enough, this is within my realm of normal, comfortable. I can handle—and prefer to handle—a young man deflecting his emotions. “I’m your elder,” I say, making a note on his digital file. “That’s old enough. Are you questioning my capabilities because of my age?”
“No, ma’am. I think you’re completely capable.” I watch him smirk from my peripheral. “I’m not trying to frazzle you—”
“Yes, you are.” I stop typing and turn toward him. “And that’s okay. I’m not upset, or frazzled. I understand why you’d try to make me feel uncomfortable. It’s probably worked on others before. So they’d drop your case. Kick you out. Stop trying to help you.”
His features shift, his mouth hardens into a thin line. He says nothing in response. Instead, he focuses on straightening his necktie.
“I’m not going to stop trying to help you,” I hear myself say, and realize I mean it. “No matter what. I’m new and fresh, as you’ve pointed out, and have many years ahead in this field before I’m worn down by young men like you.” I let a smug smile grace my lips.
He stops fidgeting with his tie and peeks up. “So, there is the possibility of wearing you down?”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What if I come in here and ask you out every session?” he presses.
A laugh slips free, and I quickly recover. “I won’t cave,” I say, schooling my facial muscles. “That’s against school policy, obviously, and it’d be a gross misconduct on my part. You’re my patient. And a minor.”
“I’m eighteen,” he reminds me.
“And yet, that changes nothing.”
His gaze levels with mine. “If you don’t tell me your age, I’ll have to start guessing.”
“Knock yourself out.”
I’m flirting, my inner voice scolds. I need to stop this.
He sits forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on the arms. My gaze is drawn to his exposed forearms. “I’d say twenty-two…but that wouldn’t give you enough time to graduate college.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying not to give in to his deliberate attempt to unnerve me. “What were the fights about in your last school?”
This question throws him a bit, and he pushes back in the seat. “That was then,” he says. “I had a few issues with some guys, but that’s over. I’m here now. Fresh start. Same as you.”
His comment knocks me mentally off balance, and I catch myself staring at him, my hands shaking against the laptop keyboard. “Who did you hear that from?”
What does he know? Why is he here?
His features contort in confusion. “Hear what?”
Fresh start. An innocent remark. Of course, I’m overreacting. His attempt to get under my skin is working. I’m the adult. I’m the trained counselor.
I close my eyes, calm my breathing. “Nothing. I think we’re getting off to the wrong start.”
“You’re right. We should’ve met outside of school. Like a meet cute in a bookstore, or a coffee shop. Then I would’ve flirted with you there—and not inappropriately in your office—and I would have asked for your number.” He grins at me. “And you would’ve given it to me.”
I can’t help it; I laugh out right. “That is a very bold and cocky statement.”
He shrugs, then crosses his arms. “I feel it. Don’t you? That we have something between us, Ms. Montgomery?”
The air becomes dense, heavy with the weight of his stare. I don’t blink; I hold his deliberate gaze across the desk, and feel the moment the air crackles. A current of electricity travels between us, proving his statement true.