Rid of Me: A Love Story with a Body Count

Chapter 10

The crystal chandelier, the smooth jazz playing in the background, clean linens dressed each table and waiters without attitudes. I could get use to this type of treatment. He ordered a bottle of wine, it had some fancy French name, but I didn't give a shit. I wasn't a wine snob. If I could get a buzz from it, I was cool. There was still a wait before the waiter to return to take our order. So, I was getting nervous. I bet this guy wanted to talk to me a get to know the real Pitch. Oh, shit! That could lead to some interesting tales. So, I going to strike first. I'm going to get him to talk about himself.

"So, Leo," I said, "if that is your real name." Nice, I showed him some of my wit. "What do you do for a living? Besides picking up hot chicks at strip clubs and banging them in the backroom." I hoped I didn't go too far with the wit.

A short laugh followed by his wide smile. "Well." He took a sip of his wine. "Leo is my real name. Leo Taylor. Besides picking up beautiful redheads, only name Pitch? My other job isn't that interesting."

Okay, the line, 'Besides picking up beautiful redheads, only name Pitch' was too cute. So, I leaned towards him. I wondered if his eyes would break contact with mine to stare down my dress and look at my boobs. I would get mad if he did. His eyes did break for a second, just long enough to take in the sights. Bingo! He would be resting his head between these soft pillows soon enough. That was a little cheesy.

"I'm afraid you might run away," he said as he took another sip.

"Come on, tell me." Then, I made a silly joke. "What are you? A serial killer?"

"No," he answered. "But I had met a couple."

"What?" This small chit chat just got interesting.

"I work with the police department."

"Are you a cop?"

"I used to be a detective," he answered. "Now, I'm a psychologist. I conduct criminal investigative analysis for the police.

"Criminal investigative analysis?" I was playing dumb. Criminal investigative analysis is another name for.

"Criminal profiling," he said as I was thinking it. "I also have a private practice. I mean who wants to talk to criminals all day."

You are talking to one now, you sexy bastard. "So," I added. "You do therapy too?"

"Yes," he said. "I work mostly with victims of crime and abuse, but I also work with people that struggle of everyday life."

"So, you are a giver of hope."

He took another sip of his wine. "That is an interesting point. That was pretty clever."

"Thank you." Shit, what the fuck did I got myself into. "So, if I need help, would you help me?

"Not professionally," he said.

"Why?" I answered. "I'm not looking for free therapy."

"No, it isn't that." He placed the wine glass down and took hold of my hand. "Because if I get professionally involved with you, it would ruin any chance of a personal relationship."

His hand was so soft and warm. He stared at my eyes and this time they didn't break to get a peek at my boobs. I wanted to taste the red wine off his lips. I wanted him to hold me in his arms. I wanted to feel his lips against mine. What is going on with me? This guy is poison. He could fuck up everything.

"Am I reading you wrong?" He asked.

"No," I answered. "You are not. I put my other hand on top of his. I like you."