The Real Thing by Cassie Mae Read Free Book Online Page B

touch you like this. You should like it and be grateful for it.”
    The door clicks and it jolts me from my damn head. Dr. Shuman’s eyebrows rise as he looks at me, and his mouth drops open.
    “Eric Matua?”
    “Hey, Doc.”
    He steps through the door, then closes it behind him, still gawking at me. I jam my fists in my pockets so I don’t fidget.
    “Well, you’re looking good,” he says, reaching to shake my hand. I flex my fingers before I reach out to grasp his. He’s still shaking his head at me. “I hardly recognize you.”
    “Uh, thanks.”
    He smiles and drops my hand. “Still having a tough time taking compliments?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    He laughs, turning from me to his desk. His hair is thinning in the back, and damn that sucks. He’s only, like, thirty-five. If I start losing my hair that early I’m shaving it.
    “So, been a while,” he says when he sits in his chair.
    “Yeah, I uh … was living in Samoa with my uncle for a bit.”
    “Welcome back to the States.”
    “Thanks.”
    He opens his jacket and pulls a pen out. I didn’t even see him grab his clipboard, but there it is in its usual position on his lap.
    “You want to sit?” He gestures to the couch. Instantly my limbs tighten and my muscles crawl. I shake my head and pace the floor again. Dr. Shuman clears his throat. “All right, Eric. You know I won’t play the guessing game with you. So, I’ll wait till you’re ready to talk.”
    I try to laugh, but it comes out garbled. This was always his method—sit there in silence till I break. And since I only have an hour, and it’s been a good three years since I last saw him, things start spewing out as I wring my hands together, run them over my head, and pace, pace, pace.
    “I thought I was done with this shit. But this morning I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think, really. She felt good and things were fine, then that damn voice popped into my head and I bolted. It was an instant panic attack, and I’m pretty sure I scared the hell out of her or something. That’s never happened with Em. She was always the person who kept things calm. Well, not calm, but it was real enough to keep my head clear. I don’t know, but I don’t want this thing with Ali to keep coming back to bite me every time I’m with a woman. I feel ruined or something, and if I can’t keep her away when I’m with my best friend, how the hell am I supposed to keep her away at all, you know?”
    Dr. Shuman presses his lips together, then scratches his goatee with the back of his pen. “Sorry, Eric. I wish I could say I do know what you mean, but it’s been a few years. I may need a quick recap of which ‘she’ is which.”
    This was a bad idea. I don’t want to talk anymore, but he must have a sensor that tells him when a patient is about to fly the coop, because he leans forward, holding his palm out to stop me.
    “Eric, I remember Ali. You don’t have to go into that if you don’t want to.”
    I nod and press the heel of my hand against my forehead. Having to retell the whole experience with my ex isn’t why I came here. I want him to help me
forget
it.
    “I’m talking about Em … not that Em is in my head … Ali’s in my head. I just, uh, I think I want … ah, hell, I don’t know, but it’s not going to happen if I can’t … these panic attacks, what do I do about them? Should I tell Em about it? Or maybe not even bring it up. The whole thing might not even happen again with the way I reacted—”
    “Eric,” he says, setting the clipboard down on the table next to him. “Sit down before you destroy the furniture.”
    My brow furrows as I follow his line of sight to my fists curled around the back of the couch, fingers digging into the leather. I take a deep breath and ease off the cushion. As much as my fidgety body hates it, I force myself to lie down and stare at the ceiling.
    “Take a deep breath,” he says, and I do it even though it feels like fire scorching my