Page 14 of Taming a Menace

I thought my mom would kill me. She was so pissed that I stayed on punishment almost a whole month.

Nobody bothered to ask me what happened.

Nobody bothered to ask if I wanted to fuck the girl in the first place.

I guess since I was a boy, it didn’t matter.

I didn’t want anybody to think I was a punk, so I didn’t speak up.

Like Leela told me, only a punk didn’t like pussy, and I was nobody’s punk.

I don’t know why for sure, but I felt lighter as I pulled up to the parking lot of the clinic where Iyla worked.

Maybe there was something to this therapy shit.

I didn’t plan on talking but just the thought of getting one more session behind me was enough to put some pep in my step.

Not only that but since Iyla had decided not to give my ass the boot, I would get to see her again.

She was prudent enough to put her job first. I couldn’t blame her for that.

Just like she couldn’t blame me for wanting her fine ass.

Seeing her in her professional capacity only made me want her more.

She wasn’t the type of woman I usually went for since most of my exes were strippers and waitresses that I’d encountered over the years.

Not that none of them were intelligent, they just didn’t come off as reserved and uptight like Iyla.

It was hard to imagine the carefree, heartbroken girl wearing a tight dress and unmanning me with the sound of her laughter as the woman sitting behind a desk scribbling notes about me. Still, I knew the woman I’d fallen for in one night was in there.

Iyla likely had to code switch to be taken seriously at work.

It was one of the downfalls of working for other people.

I liked having the freedom to be me. Then again maybe it wasn’t her job that had her acting so stiff.

Maybe it was me. Maybe it was seeing me on her job after I’d blown her back out that made her so rigid.

Lord knows seeing her made me rigid. Either way it went I was excited to see her.

I wasn’t interested in the benefits of therapy outlined on the pamphlet they’d given me the first day.

My sole interest lied with the woman responsible for getting me to open up and talk about why I was such a fucked up person.

That would never happen, but I couldn’t blame her for trying to do her job.

Once I found a spot in the parking garage, I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and hopped out of the truck. I entered the building through the side entrance and made my way to the desk to check in.

“Sign in and have a seat until your name is called,” Janet said without ever putting her eyes on me.

I wasn’t here to see her anyway, so I signed my name and took the first empty chair I came to.

I slung my bag in the chair next to me and pulled my phone out to check the messages that Kannon had sent while I was driving.

His texts included a sample menu and some of Carteay’s favorite flavors and dishes.

She wanted me to express my own creative freedom with her taste in mind.

I loved being able to spread my wings and create.

She’d given me a budget for the grocery list that didn’t really sound like a budget since it was four figures.

I had started to look forward to something that had felt like an inconvenience at first. Giving up my off day to do something I loved never really felt like work anyway.

“Mr. Glover.”

My heart responded first, seizing up in my chest as I looked up from my phone.

There she was wearing a tan pantsuit that was fighting to hide her curves.

The short hair I’d fallen in love with had grown out.

Today it was in a bunch of curls that I wanted to run my fingers through just to see how soft they were.

A pair of gold wire rimmed glasses sat on the edge of her nose. Those were new. I had never seen her in glasses, granted I had only seen her twice before today. Still I loved them on her. My girl looked like the sexiest librarian I had ever seen.

“Mr. Glover.” Iyla called my name again, reminding me that I hadn’t moved a muscle.

Nodding my head, I grabbed my backpack and stood to follow her down the hall. Mind you, I would follow that ass anywhere. Just thinking about making sure she stayed soft and thick had me planning our future meals.

I didn’t give a damn what she said about those hips and thighs. Having them wrapped around my body almost gave me an out-of-body experience. I wasn’t about to let her think there was anything wrong with a woman with curves and a little extra cushion.

I felt it. I knew it was there, but for the life of me I couldn’t wipe the silly grin off of my face as we entered her office.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, she turned on those heels that made her ass sit up just a little higher.

She still smelled like vanilla. Her warm, soothing sent made my heart flutter.

Holding a hand up to me, she stopped me before I could say anything.

“First of all, let me make a few things clear,” she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. That was so cute. “This is my job. I’m not risking it for you or anyone else. I worked hard to earn my degrees, and I’m not flushing it down the drain because someone else doesn’t value my hard work.”

“Got it,” I said, nodding my head.

Iyla was adorable when she was all business. I knew she would kick my ass out of her office in a heartbeat and that shit turned me on. At the same time, I didn’t want to risk getting thrown out, so I would be on my best behavior, not that that was saying much.

“If you’re going to be on my caseload, you’re going to have to take your treatment seriously.

I’m not here to play games or entertain any client-therapist fantasies you might have.

What happened between us was a mistake and will not be discussed within the confines of this office.

If I’m going to keep you as a client, then I need to know that you are serious about your treatment. ”

“Cool.”

“I don’t want any shit from you, Mr. Glover. I’m not kidding.”

“I got it, Ms. Lady.”

“My name is Iyla. I’m pretty sure you haven’t forgotten that. I would appreciate it if you refrained from giving me nicknames. We need to maintain some professional boundaries. Can you do that? If you feel like that’s too much for you, then you can walk right back out of here right now.”

“Naw, I’m good. I do have a question though.”

She sighed as she lowered her glasses. “What is it, Mr. Glover?”

Hearing her refer to me as Mr. Glover made me want to bend her over that desk and remind her of how she screamed at the top of her lungs as I dug her out all those years ago. I promised to behave, though, so instead I asked my question.

“Why didn’t you give me the boot?” I quizzed.

“Trust me. I tried. Everyone here was booked solid. I even tried to find a different state funded clinic in the city, but no one has any openings for the next thirty days. I saw somewhere in your paperwork that your parole officer wants to be notified immediately if you’re released from therapy before the end date.

I couldn’t bring myself to be the reason you went back to prison. ”

I smirked. “So you care about me?”

She scoffed. “Whatever. I’m a decent human being. I’m not in love,” she said, sticking her glasses back on her face before turning to walk over to her desk.

“Didn’t say you were. Can I ask one more question? I’m sure it might help with my therapy.”

“What is it, Mr. Glover?” she asked once she was seated behind her desk.

“Why didn’t you give me your number that night?”

“Have you forgotten the rules already?” she questioned, cocking her head to the side.

“I’m just curious. It might be beneficial for my healing.”

She sighed before taking off her glasses and placing them on the desk. Picking up a clipboard, she held it up, extending it to me. I crossed the room and took it from her hand.

“Today isn’t a talking session. Today is a writing session. I want you to fill these forms out as honestly as possible. Remember, you are expected to take these sessions seriously. Feel free to have a seat in either of these chairs or over there on the couch.”

I didn’t respond as I scanned the questions and moved back over to the couch.

I dropped my bookbag before settling down next to it.

Since I was going to have to answer a bunch of questions, I might as well get comfortable.

Once I was seated, I went down the list of questions filling them in as I saw fit.

The first few questions were fairly simple.

They wanted to know my name, age, and level of education.

There were also lines for family history and dynamic.

Then the real therapy questions started.

Just like Iyla had before, the form asked about a family history of mental health and what I expected from therapy.

I didn’t expect shit other than to not go back to prison.

I was pretty sure I had made that abundantly clear.

I wrote it down anyway. Seeing that I was about to get to the nitty gritty, I put the clipboard down and unpacked my bag.

I placed my wrap and pita chips on the spot next to me, standing as I removed one of the bottles of water.

Crossing the room, I walked the other containers over to Iyla.

She was typing like a mad woman, so she didn’t even seem to notice me until I put the containers on her desk.

“Decided to move?” she asked, lifting her brows as she raised her eyes to meet mine.

“No. This is for you.”

“It’s not my lunch hour, Mr. Glover, but feel free to eat.”

“Mine is over there. I don’t like eating in front of people. My mom never let us do that, so I still don’t feel comfortable eating while other people aren’t eating. I remember you saying something similar.”

“Well thank you.”

“What time is lunch?” I questioned.

“We close the office for lunch at twelve.”

“Not bad. Still if you go ahead and eat now, you’ll be free to do whatever you feel when your break comes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she muttered.

Seconds later, her fingers were tapping away at the keys again. I hadn’t even been there ten minutes, so I had plenty of time to fill out her questionnaire. First I would eat. I sat on the couch watching Iyla as I uncovered my food.

She was fucking fascinating. I didn’t completely understand why I was so taken by her. I had seen thousands of beautiful women, and there was no telling how many of them I had fucked. Iyla though—she stirred something in my chest that made me want to explore her. I wanted to know her.

What made her want to be a therapist? Why did she work here of all places?

Did her brows only pinch when she was deep in thought?

What made her smile? It was the thing I missed most next to being deep in her guts.

Most importantly, I wanted to know what made her feel that she was undesirable, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I couldn’t speak for anyone else, but I desired her fine ass like a muthafucka.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up from her computer screen.

“What?” I replied, unsure if she wanted to know why I was staring at her or what.

“In the container. What is it?” she clarified.

“Oh, they’re grilled salmon wraps with a pineapple dressing. I made pita chips to go with it. Trying to watch my figure and shit.” I grinned.

“Sounds good,” she said before going back to work.

“You have no idea.”

I didn’t waste any time polishing off my food before picking the clipboard back up.

Pride swelled my chest at the sound of crunching that didn’t come from me.

I glanced up from the questionnaire long enough to see Iyla picking up another chip.

I didn’t want to make her self-conscious, so I kept my attention on the prying ass questions these folks had on their form.

Have you ever experienced significant trauma or abuse? Have you ever been the victim of an act of violence? Didn’t these people know I had been to prison? I knew the paperwork was generic but still. Some things went without saying.

How do you cope with stress? Cooking. I didn’t hesitate to answer that one.

It was a no brainer. I could always count on my favorite thing in the world when I needed to decompress.

Other questions required a little thought.

For whatever reason, I wanted to put the right answers.

I wasn’t sure if there were right and wrong answers, but if there were I didn’t have them.

If I had the right answers, I probably wouldn’t be sitting in therapy.

“I was heartbroken,” Iyla said, breaking the silence in the room.

“That’s why I didn’t give you my number.

I didn’t feel like there was any way I could think about getting involved with someone else while my heart was still in tatters.

I definitely wasn’t about to try to get involved with someone I slept with on the first night of meeting them.

I don’t usually do that. I don’t do flings.

I had only had sex with one man in the past five years.

I don’t share my body with just anyone. I knew I had already set a bad precedent with you, so I didn’t want to go any further. ”

“Fair enough. I just want you to know I’m not judging you for exercising basic human instincts.

I still respect you as a woman. I’m going to prove that by taking this therapy shit seriously.

I appreciate you for keeping me on. You didn’t have to do that.

For that, I promise to play fair and behave like I said I would, no matter how hard it is. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Glover. I appreciate that.”

“I get that your career is important to you. So is mine.”

“I’m glad we got that settled. If you’re done with your forms, that concludes our session.”

“Damn, time flies,” I said, standing and walking the clipboard over to her.

“It’s a little shy of an hour, but that was all I had for the day.”

“I’m sure you’re ready to go to lunch. I could hear your stomach growling from over there.”

And there it was. Her smile. My smile.

“Whatever. I was trying to cut you some slack, Mr. Glover. If you want to stay the full hour, feel free.”

“Telling me to stay in your presence longer isn’t a threat, Ms. Fisher.”

“It is if you’re someone who hates therapy,” she countered.

“You have a good point.”

“See you next Tuesday,” she said before putting her attention back on her computer screen.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I told her as I picked up my bag from the couch and left without looking back.

Looking back wasn’t good for either of us. Instead I left with the promise of seeing her again in a few days.