Alarming, to say the least.

Especially considering Elise still can’t stand the sight of me.

I wiggle my fingers in anticipation of texting Elise back. Maybe a carefully selected nude? God knows I have plenty of those. It would be a shame not to immortalize my physique now and again in my iPhone camera roll. Something tells me that will get my number blocked, however, so I settle on something that will encourage her to reply.

Because I want to talk to her. I want to know her.

What the fuck is this change taking place inside of me?

Before I can ask about her day—blech, how common—my therapist arrives in the doorway, summoning me inside. I come very close to canceling the entire session, just so I can text back my brown-eyed beauty, but I’ve come all the way out to Roosevelt Island and these appointments don’t run cheap, so I sigh and follow her into the familiar room full of house plants and colorful furniture.

The first time I walked into this office, I didn’t think Dr. Bunton and I would be a good fit. Her taste in décor is unrefined and she wears rainbow Crocs, for the love of God, but she got me talking. Acknowledging my shit out loud. That’s more than I can say for the last three shrinks who tried to figure me out.

“It’s nice to see you again, Tobias. How have you been since the last time?”

I have to chuckle. “Life has been interesting, to say the least.”

She settles into a giant mustard yellow armchair. “How so?”

After removing my overcoat and laying it across the back of a leather couch, I take a seat across from Dr. Bunton. “I met a woman. She loathes me. It’s fabulous.”

Her mouth opens and closes. “You like the fact that she loathes you?”

“No. I hate it. But for now…I think it’s fabulous that she feels something for me. Anything. If you met her, you might understand.” Finding the right words to explain here is almost impossible. How can I describe the seismic shift that happens in my bones when Elise flicks me a mere glance? “Having her acknowledge me feels like winning no matter her opinion, even if I would like to change that opinion. Drastically.”

Dr. Bunton is silent for a few beats. “Your words are carrying a lot of weight today.”

“Are they?” I throw my ankle up onto my knee. Casual as you please. “Hmm.”

The ticking clock in the room suddenly seems louder.

“You came to New York from London five years ago and you’ve yet to let anyone close. All of your acquaintances are surface level and almost always sparked by your persona. Most of your time is spent in your apartment.”

“It’s a lovely apartment,” I interject, somewhat dully, a throb happening in my chest.

“Yes, I’m sure. And it’s very understandable that you’d choose to hide away after what happened with your manager.” She pauses, tilts her head. “Are you beginning to feel more inclined to be social? Perhaps less fear when it comes to allowing people to get close?”