“All those stories about patients falling for shrinks are glamorized,” she said. “It’s wrong. It’s just plain wrong.”

“I wasn’t your patient last night,” he said, ready to absolve her of her guilt. He knew a thing or two about that awful emotion.

She clenched her hands at her sides, as if she were channeling all her feelings there. Frustration, perhaps? Annoyance? Or was there regret flowing through her veins too? “I had an appointment scheduled with you already.”

“But I didn’t know it was you. You didn’t know it was me . . . did you?” he asked, then the possibility dawned on him. Had she known who he was? His brain was spinning now, and it wasn’t making pretty kaleidoscopic images. Maybe she’d been the one scoping him out clandestinely.

“No!” She jammed her hands in her hair, and whatever she’d been keeping under the surface bubbled up. Her voice rose. “I never would have done that. Jack, I don’t even know a thing about you, except you sell toys. I don’t even know what kind of toys you sell. Do you sell Legos? Weeble Wobbles? Dolls?” She raised her eyebrows in question as she fired off options. “Do you run a toy store or something?”

He didn’t even bother to contain the grin as he shook his head, laughing deeply. “I sell sex toys.”

Her jaw went slack. She blinked several times, then swallowed. She sank down onto the couch, dropped her head between her legs and breathed out hard. For a second he thought she was having an anxiety attack, but she popped back up, grabbed his elbow, opened the door and escorted him out of the office. “You need to see someone else,” she said, marching him down the hall to the stairs, and two flights down, then into another hallway. She walked him into another psychology practice, then mouthed thank God when she spotted a door open.

She tapped twice, then stepped inside. “Kana, hello. I think Friday at two is one of your free hours, right?”

“Yes,” said the woman named Kana. Her long black hair was sleek and looped in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore a long hippie skirt, a red shirt, and bangles on her arms. She looked young, perhaps late twenties.

“Is there any chance you could take my two p.m.? I have a conflict,” Michelle said, then turned to him. “Jack, this is Kana Miyoshi. She works in another practice. I’ve referred other patients to her. She’s excellent and you will be in good hands.”

“Wait a second. Who said I just wanted to switch?” he asked, digging in his heels. His mental health wasn’t a game of hot potato. This was his fucking messed-up life, and he wasn’t some assignment to be passed around.

“Kana is great,” Michelle said, in a too-professional tone. All the sexiness, all the teasing, and all the shock was gone, replaced only by a cool business-like demeanor.

“But Casey made the appointment to see you,” Jack said pointedly.