Your dad was a therapist.
Which was ironic because he could never understand you or your mother.
You knew he was in with a patient right now, Tate Langdon.
You had met Tate when your first moved in.
He got the appointment date wrong.
He was really cool and you enjoyed the few minutes of conversation you had shared.
He had an appointment yesterday, and had stayed a few hours after to talk with you in your room.
He had the same music taste you did and viewed the world in a cynical light as well.
You liked him to say the least.
He listened to your problems and you listened to his.
"Y/N, tell your father I need him right away," you mother called, looking up from her computer in the kitchen.
"He's with a patient," you reminded her.
"I said get him now," she repeated.
You sighed and went to your father's office.
Before you entered, you heard Tate talking.
Maybe listening for a bit wasn't a bad idea.
"So, what do shrinks think about when a wildly brilliant patient doesn't talk to punish said psychiatrist? I bet you think about sex," Tate said.
Your dad thinking about sex?
Iew.
"Do you think about sex a lot?" Your father asked.
Deflect off the other person.
Typical of your father.
"I think about one girl in particular," Tate said.
Now this would be interesting.
"Your daughter," Tate spoke.
What?
Tate thought about you like that.
Half of you wanted to interrupt right now, but the other half wanted to hear what he said.
The other half won.
"I jerk off thinking about her. A lot," Tate told your father.
"I'm not comfortable with you talking about my daughter, Tate," your father said.
Thanks, dad.
That's totally how you defend my honor.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes.
"Don't you want to know what I do to her? How I lay her down on the bed and I caress her soft skin make her purr like a little kitten?" Tate informed him, :She's a virgin. They get wet so easily.
You were 75% sure that Tate was just saying these things to anger your father, to get his attention.
The other 25% was thinking Tate had feelings for you, even if they were expressed in a way that made you uncomfortable.
"Do you turn to these thoughts to comfort yourself in times of stress?" Your father asked.
Way to turn it around, dad.
"Actually, yes. I jerk off a lot to make the visions go away. The blood and the carnage," Tate replied, "I want the thoughts to go away, and you're not helping me."
You were about to laugh, but you didn't want to be caught.
"Well, we've only been working together a few weeks now," your dad defended himself.
"Well, you're sexual, right? Y/N told me about the affairs with the college girls," Tate said.
Damn.
You were going to get in trouble for that later.
"Our time is up," your dad said.
Yeah, run away like always.
"Bullsh-," Tate began to curse.
It was a better time now than ever to interrupt.
You made sounds like feet approaching before revealing your presence near the door and knocking.
"Hey Y/N," your dad greeted.
"Mom says to come downstairs. It's really important," you told him.
Your dad walked out and you went to walk out behind him.
Tate grabbed your arm and pulled you into him.
"Tate?" You questioned.
"Your dad is a dick," he said.
"Welcome to the club," you responded.
You wanted to push his words out of your memory.
"Would you want to go out with me?" Tate asked.
Should you even trust this guy?
"Sure," you said.
Tate pressed his lips onto yours.
Yeah, he was just joking with your father.
What could possibly go wrong?
