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“Close your mouth,” Callum whispers, his arms coming around me from behind.

I’m so numb that his presumption doesn’t bother me like it normally would. Turning in his arms to make them fall, I whisper back, “I wasn’t prepared to see him. He kicked me out of his office today.”

Callum’s lips twitch. “Kinsey told Nix, who told everyone else after you left group today.” He laughs at my disgusted expression. “By the way, what the bloody fuck are you wearing?”

I growl at him. “Not a word, Rivers.”

His tawny brows rise. “Not even to tell you how hot you?—”

I smack his chest and dance back when he reaches for me, only to collide with a body behind me.

“Sorry, I—” My mouth snaps closed.

Dr. Chastain nods. “Amelia.” He glances past me. “Callum.” Blue eyes flicker back to me, landing and flying away like a butterfly kiss. “Enjoy the festivities.”

As he strides toward the door, Nix calls, “Dr. C, you’re leaving?”

His suited frame pauses and turns, and on his face is an expression I’ve never seen him wear. Pride. Happiness. A grin that transforms him into a man with the gravitational pull of a damn sun.

“Congratulations again, Jason,” he says warmly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

Kinsey squeals and Nix hoots, picking her up by the waist and swinging her around the room. When I look back at the doorway, Chastain is gone.

I’m a stupid, stupid woman. Only someone stupid, or crazy, would sneak out of a party at their rehab to stalk their therapist.

Not that my decision is surprising. Not to me, anyway. And as I approach the closed office door, wreathed with light from within, I realize it probably won’t surprise him, either.

My brain screams at me to turn around, but my hand lifts and knocks on the wood.

“Come in.”

Stop, you idiot. Run.

I walk inside, then close the door and sink against its support. I’m out of breath, like I just sprinted a mile.

Holy shit, I’m a mess.

On the other side of the room, Chastain leans against his desk, slim hips squared. His suit jacked is tossed across one of the leather chairs. My chair. His tie is loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. Stubble shadows his jaw, drawing dangerous attention to his full lips.

My mouth goes dry.

I want to destroy him.

“Amelia,” he says wearily, “what do you need?”

A dangerous question. But I’m not so far gone that I’ll tell him the truth.

“I don’t know. I never do. I just… act.”

His brows lift over the slim, dark frames of his glasses. “Were you hoping to catch me dozing? Maybe so you could shave my head?”

Smart doctor. When I don’t say anything, he answers my silent question. “You stare at my hair quite frequently. The way I comb it irritates you, doesn’t it?”

I snort, then slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. Giggling is inexcusable. Little girls and women like Kinsey giggle. I do not.

Dr. Chastain’s lips curve a tiny bit, his eyes challenging.

I fucking giggle.