She’s as appealing to me as wanting to shove a knife up my ass.

“No.” My tone is flat.

The good doc wants me to step out my comfort zone, date, and get over my fear of connecting with women on an emotional level.

The last time I took a woman out on a proper date it was a fucking disaster. Two years ago, I took long-legs Abigail to the Gala, and she annoyed the fuck out of me to the point I wanted to shove a spike through my eye. She ended up calling me nonstop after the date, asked me to meet her parents, and lived in a delusional world where we were in a relationship. And when I shot her down, she went apeshit on me—busted my car windows and spray-painted “asshole” on the door. Then there was big-titty Paige. I took her out to eat and bought her designer clothes. Then she told me she loved me, so naturally, I stopped calling and texting her.

I spend a few Benjamins on a woman, and all of a sudden they’re planning our wedding. If they knew what kind of monster I am they wouldn’t toss the “L” word around so quickly. So I gave up on dating.

I’m sick to death of paying for a psychiatrist just to be told I need to date.

I’m. Not. Dating. End of fucking story.

Women care more about what’s in my wallet than how they feel about me. They’d rather have Gucci, Chanel, or Michael Kors than the real me. So why the fuck would I spend my time looking for love?

Love is a poison I don’t want to drink.

“Date, Gunner. You need to put yourself out there.” She says this as if she’s tired of repeating herself. She places her blue notepad decorated in Bible quotes on the neat desk.

The leather couch squeaks as I sit up and glance around the small office. The walls are pale as a ghost, and her metal desk is shoved in the corner next to a window that’s shaped like an oval. The sky is gray, and rain taps angrily on the window. Four towers of fashion magazines are stacked neatly in the corner by her desk. (I suspect she’s a hoarder.)

“I have eight words for you. Stay the fuck out of my love life.” I pause. “Help me fix my anger issues.”

This is one of the main reasons why I see her. Anger outbursts have been kicking my ass ever since my piece-of-shit dad fucked off to the next woman he could destroy. FYI, my dad’s hobbies were getting sloppy drunk and pounding on my ma and yours truly until we were black and blue.