Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  “He’s somewhat handsome,” Hunter replied, choosing his words carefully. “And he’s heterosexual.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hey, you have attractive male patients too.”

  “Maybe after I’m done with them,” Bradley said. “But nobody as fine as that man.” He drummed his fingertips on the table. “Why haven’t you told me about Grant?”

  Hunter’s heart began pounding. “It’s confidential!”

  “Yes, but you’ve never seemed so freaked out by this kind of situation before. There’s something not right here. I’ve had the sense you’ve been hiding something for the past month, and when I see a man like that—a man you know, a man you’ve never told me about… I’m getting a funny feeling here, Hunt. This isn’t another Robert, is it?”

  Hunter’s heart continued thumping, and his cheeks flushed with anger. “Nothing happened with Robert, damn it! How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Bradley cut to the chase. “Can you honestly tell me you’re not attracted to Grant?”

  Hunter’s hesitation told him all he needed to know.

  “Great, fucking great,” Bradley roared. “You’re having an affair with your client.”

  “I am not!” Hunter shouted before nervously glancing around him. A few diners at nearby tables shot him questioning glances, but the lively music absorbed most of his outburst. “I am not having an affair with him,” he repeated more quietly. “Why do you always jump to conclusions?”

  “I’m just examining the evidence,” Bradley replied coldly.

  Hunter sighed ruefully, running his hand through his short blond hair. “I should have listened to Michelle.”

  “Michelle?” Bradley’s mouth tightened. “You’re talking to your hag about this, but not to me?” He appeared wounded. “Spill it, Hunt. Now.”

  Biting his lip, Hunter finally said, “I consulted with Michelle about this couple. I admitted to her that I felt attracted to Grant.” Observing Bradley’s increased glower, he rushed in to add, “It’s totally normal to feel attracted to clients. And I followed ethical guidelines by consulting with another psychologist about it.”

  “What did she say?” he growled.

  “She said I should think about referring them to another psychologist.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “It’s complicated.” Hunter exhaled loudly. “I can’t explain without getting into the details of the case, but I thought I might cause more harm by referring them than by keeping them. And I felt confident there was no danger I would act on my feelings. I love you, Bradley. I would never do anything to hurt you like that.”

  He quietly absorbed Hunter’s words, wanting to believe him, but feeling the remnants of distrust still flowing through his veins.

  “Michelle gave me one more piece of advice,” Hunter confessed. “She encouraged me to tell you about my attraction to my client, to, um, sort of guarantee I wouldn’t act on it.”

  “But you didn’t tell me! Why?”

  Hunter winced. “I don’t know. I was embarrassed, I guess. I know I just said feeling attracted to clients is normal, but I felt kind of humiliated about it—like I was being unprofessional or something. Bradley, I promise you nothing will happen.”

  “Somehow I’m not entirely reassured,” Bradley said with a frown.

  “I’m not even that attracted to him anymore.”

  “And why is that?”

  “For one thing, he and Sophie are all over each other. Total PDA. He’s obviously heterosexual.”

  “Ugh—you have to watch those breeders in action, huh? Poor you.”

  Finally Hunter and Bradley shared a grin. The waiter cleared their plates and announced he’d bring papaya cream to finish their meal.

  Once he left, Bradley said, “You said ‘for one thing’? What else has decreased your attraction to Grant?”

  Hunter’s grin faded, and he began fidgeting with the coasters.

  Bradley furrowed his brow. “What is it?”

  Hunter was silent for several moments. “His behavior disgusted me,” he finally explained. “He reminded me of a time I’d rather forget.”

  Bradley looked worried and reached out to hold one of Hunter’s hands. “You can tell me, Hunt.”

  Lifting his eyes, Hunter swallowed. “He has an anger management problem. He was rough and aggressive, and he scared his partner.”

  Bradley immediately dropped Hunter’s hand. “Th-That was ten years ago.”

  “I know.”

  But Hunter still felt the sharp sting of the powerful punch careening into his face, bruising his cheek, busting his lip, and shattering the perfect relationship he thought he had. Bradley had been livid when he accused Hunter of cheating on him with his friend Robert, but when the anger morphed into physical violence, Hunter had been shocked. He’d fled from Bradley that night, and stayed away for several months. Only after much pleading and fulfilled promises to attend counseling had Hunter returned. The violence had since been forgiven, but never forgotten.

  “You know I would never do that again,” Bradley said.

  “And you know it’d be over if you tried.”

  A tense silence blanketed them until Bradley tentatively reached out and caressed the warm skin of Hunter’s palm with the pad of his thumb.

  “I’m sorry,” Bradley murmured sincerely. “I’m sorry you still think about that time.” He sighed. “I was an idiot.”

  Despite Bradley’s cocky bravado, fierce jealousy, and irascible desire to dominate, tender moments like this one reminded Hunter it was all worthwhile. His friends, his therapist, his mother—all had warned him that one episode of domestic violence would inevitably lead to countless more, trapping Hunter in an abusive relationship. But he and Bradley had beaten the odds—so far, at least.

  The foundation of Hunter’s profession was a profound belief in the possibility of change, and Bradley had seemed to change. Undoubtedly Hunter, too, had changed in many ways over the years.

  The waiter brought their creamy Brazilian desserts, and Hunter paused for just a moment, gazing at Bradley, before digging in. He took one bite and groaned, patting his full stomach again.

  “You keep feeding me these huge servings and I’ll be too fat to attract other men, anyway,” he said, willing himself to smile.

  Bradley grinned slyly. “That’s the plan, Hunt. And if you get too far gone I’ll give you a free tummy tuck—one of the many advantages of dating me.”

  11. Conmunication

  After their dinner at the Brazilian steakhouse, Sophie and Grant took a long, romantic walk along the lake.

  They returned to the apartment to find Ben still out with his friends.

  Grant snapped his phone shut after his call went unanswered. “What is it, eleven?” He frowned. “I told him to be home by ten since it’s a school night.”

  Sophie wearily plopped down on the sofa, grabbing a set of papers that needed grading.

  “Do you think we should call Ashley?” she asked.

  Grant chewed his lip. “Let’s wait another hour or so—I don’t want to scare her. I’ll keep trying his phone.”

  Ten minutes later they heard a key turn in the lock. The errant teenager entered the apartment to find his uncle waiting with an icy glare.

  “You’re over an hour late,” Grant barked, approaching him.

  “Must’ve lost track of time,” Ben mumbled, his eyes shifting to Sophie on the sofa.

  Grant surreptitiously sniffed the air around his nephew and was grateful not to detect the scent of alcohol or marijuana. However, he knew his nephew was no angel.

  “I’d like to see what’s in your pockets.”

  “What?” Ben retorted angrily. “Why?”

  “I want to see if you have any pot on you.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Ben said.

  “Fine, then it shouldn’t be a big deal to show me your pockets.”

  “Don’t I get any privacy?” the teenager whined.

&nb
sp; “You have to earn privacy, Ben,” Grant explained. “Just like you earned an evening out with your friends by performing well at school and work. Every time you behave like you should, you earn more of my trust. So show me your pockets, and let’s move on!”

  His cheeks furiously blushing, Ben stole a glance at Sophie. “Not with her here.”

  “Oh!” Sophie jumped a bit, surprised to be included in the conversation. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to the bedroom.”

  Grant glanced back and forth from his girlfriend to his nephew. “That was rude, Ben. Sophie can sit wherever she pleases—”

  “No, Ben’s right, Grant,” Sophie cut in. “This is between you and him.” She headed for the bedroom and closed the door behind her, though she could still hear their conversation through the flimsy apartment walls.

  Apparently Ben’s pockets were clean because after a few moments Grant declared, “Good job. I’m proud of you… But wait a minute. There’s still the matter of your broken curfew.”

  “Curfew?”

  Sophie could picture Ben rolling his eyes at the childish word.

  “I asked you to be home by ten, and now it’s eleven fifteen.”

  “So what? I made it home, didn’t I?”

  There was an edgy silence and Sophie worried, hoping Grant was keeping his cool. He must’ve been taking deep breaths, like Hunter had taught him, because his next words were calm.

  “To remind you to come home on time, I want you to do fifty push-ups.”

  Ben chuckled, but his laughter started to fade when he realized his uncle wasn’t even smiling. “You’re serious?” he hollered. “I’m not doing stupid push-ups!”

  “Yes, you are. That’s what’s going to happen around here when you break the rules.”

  Inside the bedroom Sophie grinned, guessing Uncle Joe had something to do with this punishment. Teenaged Grant had likely pumped out endless push-ups.

  “This is bullshit!” Ben railed.

  Grant kept his voice calm. “I’m waiting.”

  “I’m not doing them.”

  “Oh, you’ll do the push-ups,” Grant said. “Even if I have to stay here all night with you.”

  The tense standoff continued for several minutes. Sophie changed into a nightgown, leaving out one component of her ensemble and hoping very much that Grant would not be with Ben all night.

  Despite herself, she continued eavesdropping, edging closer to the door. Finally she heard Grant’s voice, so soft she strained to hear it.

  “I know this is tough, Ben, but I will not let you self-destruct like your dad. I won’t do it. I won’t.”

  That got him. There was a shuffling sound, and she heard Grant instruct, “Count them out loud, please.”

  She followed the teenager’s begrudging progress by his verbal count—the first twenty went relatively easily, but then the numbers became more labored and the pauses longer between them.

  Around number thirty Grant chastised, “Get your butt down—that one doesn’t count.”

  “I can’t do any more!” Ben shakily pleaded, his voice muffled by its proximity to the carpet.

  “Yes, you can. Stay with it. You’re doing great.”

  Somehow Ben managed six more before Sophie heard the thump of his body on the floor.

  “I can’t!” he gasped.

  Grant sighed. “Okay, get up.”

  A few moments later Grant asked, “Are you pleased with your physical fitness, Ben?”

  Still breathing hard, he rasped, “Not really.”

  “I’m not either,” Grant said. “I think a boy of your age should be able to do fifty push-ups.”

  “That’s a lot of push-ups, Uncle Grant!”

  “It is, but I know you’re up to the challenge. In fact, I’m going to give you a little motivation. Besides school and work, you’re grounded until you can show me fifty push-ups.”

  Sophie heard a gasp.

  “You can’t do that!”

  Grant didn’t bother responding. “I’ll even help you get in shape,” he continued. “You can join me for my six o’clock run tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m not going on some—some—some freaking boot-camp run in the middle of the night!”

  “It’s your choice,” Grant countered, his tone softer. “But I hope you come with me. It’s awesome to be on the lakefront while the weather’s still kind of warm. It’s a great way to wake up… C’mon, let’s get your bed ready.”

  Sophie listened to the snap of the sheet as she crossed over to sit on the bed. In typical Ben fashion, the boy augmented his sulking by escaping into music, and Sophie heard the pulsating beat from his earphones all the way in the bedroom. She hoped he wasn’t destroying his hearing.

  She resumed her reading of a student’s paper, but looked up when Grant finally entered the bedroom, looking exhausted.

  As he closed the door behind him and lifted his shirt over his head, he dropped his tough fatherly persona, turning uncertain eyes in her direction. “Did I do okay?”

  “You did great.” She smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the bed. “The push-ups were a perfect punishment, McNavy-boy.”

  They chuckled.

  “What do you think the chances are that Ben will join me for my run tomorrow?” Grant asked.

  “Slim to none,” she said with a shrug. “Well, maybe he’ll cool down by then and take you up on your offer. I know he likes spending time with you.”

  “He does?”

  “Don’t you see how he worships the ground you walk on?”

  “He certainly wasn’t worshipping anything about me tonight.”

  “You did what you needed to do—you were authoritative with him just like Hunter wanted you to be. You provided warmth and limit-setting, exactly what he needs.”

  Grant grimaced. “I hope so.” He rose from the bed and began unbuttoning his jeans while Sophie looked on, admiring the view. “I never thought this would be so difficult,” he mused, sliding off his jeans and folding them in the closet. “I have even more respect for Joe now. Maybe I should call him and get some advice.”

  He hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his boxer shorts and peeled them down, stepping out of them while reaching for a fresh pair. Dressed only in her silky emerald-green nightgown, Sophie’s breath caught upon seeing the curve of his muscular backside. Then her eyes drifted to the red scar above his right buttock and she felt sadness overtake her.

  As he slid under the sheet next to her, Sophie pursed her lips. “It’s a different situation. You’d lived with Joe since you were eight. It’s a lot more difficult to try to parent a boy who’s dumped on your doorstep at sixteen.”

  “That’s true.” Grant fluffed the pillow and placed it between his back and the headboard. “Though Joe had to deal with some things I don’t have to—like losing Logan to Angelo, for one.” He halted, as if he’d misspoken, then rushed ahead. “And although Ben hasn’t exactly had great parents, at least he wasn’t…”

  Sophie silently finished the sentence for him. At least he wasn’t beaten by his father. She dropped her head and tried to focus on the student’s paper in her lap, although her concentration was shot.

  A few minutes later, Grant asked, “How’s the grading going?”

  She looked up, and he seemed to have recovered from the mention of his past. She nodded. “Pretty good. This first-year grad student, Nora, is fortunately a good writer. It makes reading the seventh paper in a row about Harry Stack Sullivan’s interpersonal theory of counseling slightly more tolerable.”

  “What’s interpersonal theory?” he asked, draping his arm across her shoulders.

  “Well,” she began, snuggling next to him, “the theory says we learn about ourselves and about relationships through repetitive interactions in our family, and we keep repeating those interactions as adults—like how I keep trying to take care of everybody’s emotional needs just like I did with my mom.”

  “Huh. So Dr. Hayes believes in this theory, then?”


  Sophie yawned. “I think so.”

  Feeling the warmth of her smooth skin and smelling her alluring perfume, Grant gently nuzzled her hair with his nose as he took the paper and pen and set both items on the bedside table. Caressing her soft shoulder, he looked deeply into her eyes.

  His own eyes shined with mischief. “Want to get interpersonal, Dr. Taylor?”

  Mesmerized, she could only dumbly respond, “Uh-huh.”

  His left hand floated down to her knee. The light touch of his warm fingers slowly skimmed up the inside of one thigh, eliciting goose bumps. His fingers took their sweet time drifting upward, and Sophie marveled at how turned-on she felt simply from the kiss of his fingertips nearing her groin. She felt herself already becoming wet when Grant hesitated, his hand resting near her hot core.

  “You’re not wearing any panties?”

  She gave him an innocent grin. “I was hoping we might get enmeshed tonight.”

  “Great minds think alike.” He gently placed both hands on her hips and scooted her toward the foot of the bed so she lay on her back. Lifting her head, he positioned the pillow under her cascading strawberry curls, and stretching out on his right side, tucked in close to her. Their colliding skin already generated heat. He propped up his head on his wrist, pleased with the view provided by her hiked-up nightgown.

  Sophie felt her heart thumping as he gazed down at her with an expression of utter devotion. “So, my Bonnie,” he whispered, “we have a naughty teenager in the next room. Do you think you can keep your moans on the down-low tonight?”

  She giggled, and he shushed her by placing a feathery kiss on her lips, which she receptively deepened. His mouth hovering over hers, she whispered, “If I’m too loud, it’ll be your fault.”

  He grinned and covered her mouth with his once more. She’d been waiting for him all day and sighed at the exquisite pressure of his full lips. Enraptured by his sweet kisses as his right hand glided through her hair, she hadn’t noticed what his left hand was doing until she felt his fingers gently slide inside her, pushing pleasure up her spine as her breathing quickened. His tongue dipped and danced while his fingers massaged and swirled. She clutched the bed with a sense of desperation, feeling lightheaded as blood drained from her head to the center of her body.