Read Online The Vampire Shrink by Lynda Hilburn - Free Book Online

encouraging the fantasy. Both choices sucked, no pun intended.
    Maybe I could find out if any of the people involved were under eighteen and get Social Services involved. Role-playing predators. What was next?
    Clearly, I needed more resources. Luckily, one of Denver’s few remaining independent bookstores, The Torn Cover, was conveniently located a few blocks from my office. I decided to swing by on my way home and check their large selection of psychology books to see what I could find. Since the store would still be open for a couple of hours and I hadn’t eaten much during the day, I stopped in the restaurant next door for a sandwich and a glass of wine.
    I was halfway through my meal when a very attractive man entered and sat at the bar. He was dressed in a flattering dark suit, his wavy light-brown hair skimming the collar of his shirt. His strong features created an appealing profile. My entire body tensed up. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told Nancy that being in the presence of a great-looking male—in a nonwork situation—brought out the worst in me. She knew some of the facts about my childhood, but not all of them. I was a classic example of post-traumatic stress disorder. My shyness had been a beacon, attracting every predator in the environment, including the popular handsome boys, who’d taunted me. Even now, part of me wanted to regress into a stammering adolescent, waiting for the next cruel prank or hateful humiliation.
    The table I’d chosen was in a dark corner, so I figured I was safe. Invisible. I wouldn’t even have to be polite, and, once again, I’d keep the world from discovering my acute social discomfort. Not that the world cared, of course, but I clung to my illusions. Maybe it was just me who didn’t want to face them.
    Just as I drank the last swallow of wine, the man turned on his stool, stared directly at me, and smiled. He lifted his wineglass in my direction.
    Okay. Here’s my opportunity to connect with a man. How hard can it be? Just smile back, Kismet. Nothing bad will happen.
    My heart tripped, and my stomach muscles tightened.
    Maybe next time …
    As a psychologist, I knew several techniques to calm anxiety. I’d become masterful at many of them. And they often worked. But if I could distance myself—flee—that was always my option of choice.
    I made a quick, ungraceful exit from the restaurant, bumping a table as I passed, and entered the bookstore. I didn’t have the nerve to look back to check the man’s reaction to my hasty retreat.
    What a whack job, Kismet.
    As usual, I was annoyed at myself for not being able to confront my issue. Once again I’d been ridiculous and childish, reacting as if every man was out to hurt me, and I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. I thought about Nancy’s challenge—her suggestion that I walk up to a handsome man and just make conversation. I cringed.
    Get a grip, Kismet! You’re supposed to be an expert at these things. You can do it! Force yourself. Stop being a wuss. Just find a man and go say hello. Pretend he’s a client. You don’t have any problems talking to male clients. You’re good at hiding behind your professional persona. This weird behavior only happens in your personal life.
    Browsing through the bookshelves soothed me, and I soon found myself engrossed in reading the titles on the spines. Determined to deal with my fear, I lifted a new release off the shelf, opened it, and pretended to skim the page while looking around for an appropriate male. After a couple of minutes, I noticed a man in a tan business suit perusing the computer section on the shelf behind me. Giving myself a pep talk, I gathered my will and turned, planning to inch over to where I thought he was standing. I bumped into his back. He’d obviously moved.
    â€œOh! I’m so sorry—please excuse me.”
    He barely looked up from the book he held.