The Trouble With Tony (2 page)

Tony noticed these things intellectually, adding points to his mental file on Jack Halloran. But he was not the sort to be led around by the dick thanks to a pretty face. No. Unfortunately, Tony was above all that. Or below it.

“Have a seat.” Halloran motioned to the upholstered chair in front of his desk. “Would you prefer Tony or Mr. DeMarco?”

“Hey, Tony’s good, no problem.” Tony spoke gruffly to mask his natural shyness. It seemed to be brought out by Halloran’s confidence.

Dr. Halloran went back around his desk and sat down. He picked up a pencil and wiggled it a bit in his fingers, watching Tony closely. “All right, Tony. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

Tony smiled innocently. He’d looked up the clinic’s website and checked over the list of disorders they treated. He had his cover story all set to go.

“It’s like this, Doc. I’m a sex addict.”

“Oh?” Halloran looked a little surprised.

“Yeah. And it’s starting to affect my work and everything, so, you know, I figured I needed help.”

Tony put on a distraught look. He wouldn’t call himself leading man material, but he was a bullshitter from way back. You had to be with a mother like his. Ma seemed to know by osmosis if he’d clipped his toenails or jerked off that morning, and would be sure to bring it up over breakfast so that all four of his brothers and his father could be in the loop.

“What kind of work do you do?” Halloran asked.

“Insurance investigations,” Tony hedged. It had a thread of truth in it. If you squinted.

“I see.”

Dr. Halloran said nothing for a long minute, just studied him. Shouldn’t he be making sympathetic sounds? Asking questions? Offering helpful advice? Tony shifted in his seat, feeling vaguely like a bug under glass.

“How often do you masturbate?” Halloran asked.

Tony choked a bit, but managed to make it look like a tickle in his throat. “Uh… two, three times a day.” He forced a cheeky grin. “And that’s in my off days.”

Halloran lifted the pencil and tapped it thoughtfully on his chin, those steely blue eyes unwavering.

“And you have partners as well?”

“Oh hell yeah! Lots.”

“Female? Male?”

Tony shrugged. “Doc, I’ll tap anything. I told you, I’m an addict.”

Halloran’s eyes narrowed. He sucked on the end of the pencil lightly. Still, his piercing gaze never wavered. What was his problem? Whatever it was, Tony was feeling the pressure. It reminded him of being in Sister Mary Frances’s algebra class. That nun had eyes that were like frickin’ pinholes in space-time.

“Do you watch porn?” Halloran asked calmly.

Tony froze. What was the right answer here? But he had to stick with the story he’d already been building. He snorted and made a “come on” gesture. “Why would I need porn when I get laid all the time?”

In a flash, Halloran was out of his seat, around the desk, and in Tony’s space. Tony gasped in shock as Halloran leaned down, quick as a snake, and grabbed his crotch.

And there they were, Tony sitting in the chair, and Halloran leaning over him, his hand grasping Tony’s dick through his trousers. Halloran’s steely blue eyes were far too sharp. Why had Tony thought they were cornflower? Cripes, they were a cold blue, like steel, like ice—inches away from his own. Those eyes were locked on him like a weapons system.

And Tony’s dick, which had been soft in the first place, now tried to crawl back into his body like Napoleon’s army retreating from Moscow.
Great. Thanks, you goddamn coward.

Halloran gave him a cold smile and spoke, low and deadly. “You. Are. Lying.” And with that he let go and straightened up.

J
ACK
was pissed. If there was one thing he hated, it was liars, and this guy wasn’t even a good liar. He could have at least done his homework on sex addiction. He must think Jack was a moron. It was downright disrespectful.

An alarm had sounded in Jack’s head from the moment Tony DeMarco walked into his office. He was all man—a tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeous Italian with shoulder-length, dark-brown hair and big puppy-dog eyes. He affected a cocky air, in the way of the Brooklyn Italians Jack had known in the Army, but there was something inherently awkward about him too. Awkward or not, he was not the sort of patient that normally came to Expanded Horizons. Jack knew right away something was off. But his bet about what it was had been wrong.

Jack had been a doctor long enough to know that patients would make up damn near anything to get drugs or attention. It was not uncommon for healthy men to claim impotency to get a Viagra prescription in the hopes of becoming Super Stud. But not even Tony could be dumb enough to think they’d hand out Viagra to a sex addict. So that left attention. Tony didn’t seem the type, but maybe he had a kink. Did he get off on talking to a doctor about his supposedly untamable libido? If so, he could find another sucker. Listening to a patient lie about his sex life didn’t do it for Jack.

Jack sat back against the front of his desk and folded his arms. “I don’t appreciate people wasting my time, Mr. DeMarco.”

“Um….”

“So unless you have a legitimate reason for being here, the door is
that
way.” Jack pointed it out helpfully with an angry jab.

Tony gave him what might well be his first genuine expression so far—a puzzled, disturbed look. His mouth snapped shut, then open, then shut again. He looked like a guppy. “Okay, I, uh, I admit it. I got nervous and made that up.”

“Really?” Jack said dryly.

“Yeah. That’s not really my problem.” Tony’s eyes dropped into his lap. He seemed to wage some kind of internal debate. Whatever it was, it was intense. A stain began to appear, a reddening first on Tony’s neck that climbed up his jaw like a Virginia creeper. When it reached his ears, they went bright pink, a really spectacular shade of fuchsia.

This was interesting.

“I’m listening,” Jack said, more gently.

“I….”

Jack waited.

“I….”

“Tony, you can tell me anything. I promise you it won’t leave this room.”

“I….”

Jack put a hand to his forehead and rubbed gently. The big Italian was starting to give him a headache. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, we can schedule for a later time when—”

“I have a picky dick,” Tony mumbled under his breath.

Jack blinked and barely refrained from checking his ears for wax. “What was that?”

“I said I have a picky dick!” Tony said, loud now. He raised his eyes and met Jack’s challengingly. His face was crimson with embarrassment, but he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and glared at Jack as if to say,
Well go on, Genius. Fix it!

Jack managed to keep a straight face as he said, “I see. Can you define what you mean by a ‘picky dick’?”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a disgusted huff. “Like Kate Moss at a burger joint picky. It plays hard to get. If it decides it likes someone, it’s raring to go from sunup to sundown. But if it decides it doesn’t want to play ball, then
it ain’t playin’ ball,
no matter how much I want it to, or what the other person does. Know what I mean?”

“You mean you can’t always get an erection when you want one?” Jack suggested in his best doctor voice.

“Not a fuckin’ twitch,” Tony agreed bitterly.

“And how often does this problem occur?”

Tony rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Let’s just say there have been plenty of times when people showed up for the party and the keg was dry.”

“I see.”

“To the point where I just don’t bother sending out the invites, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re afraid to date because you’re worried that you might get into a sexual situation and not be able to get an erection?”

Tony glared at him. “There’s a reason they invented euphemisms, you know.”

Jack allowed himself a small chuckle. “If I’m going to treat you, I need to understand the situation clearly, and I only took two semesters of euphemisms in college.”

Tony’s face got a pinched, hopeful look. “Can you really cure it? Because it’s not a lot of fucking fun, I can tell you.”

Jack put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, encouragingly. “I can’t give you a diagnosis without a lot more information, but I can tell you that we should be able to improve things for you, yes. But first, I need you to tell me more about the times sex has worked for you.” Jack let go of Tony’s shoulder and moved back around his desk. He picked up his notepad to take notes and gave Tony an encouraging look.

T
ONY
couldn’t believe he was doing this. He was actually telling Halloran his dirty little secret, something he’d never confided to anyone before, something he could have sworn he’d be too mortified to mention, even to the Pope or Richard Simmons. Hell, even to God.

But when Halloran had called him out, he’d panicked. He needed these therapy sessions so he could get a bead on Halloran and the clinic. But Halloran had seen right through his lies. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say—
except the truth
.

When he’d looked into Expanded Horizons, he’d wondered if they’d ever seen a case like his. It had been an idle thought, and he really hadn’t intended to mention it but…
why not
? Expanded Horizons had a reputation as an excellent clinic, and the Whites were paying for these therapy sessions. Why not take advantage of it? Dr. Halloran hadn’t been willing to tell the police a thing about Marilyn’s case. So Tony believed that no one would ever know what he discussed with the doctor. And even if it did get out, he could always say he’d made it up for a cover story. It was humiliating to talk about it, yeah, but… what if Halloran could help? Tony would do anything to be normal. He was tired of living alone, sleeping alone,
being
alone.

So he told Halloran, haltingly, about the men he thought of as “the Fab Four.” In the whole of Tony’s life, there had only been four guys that made him feel the magic. The first had been Derry, a boy on his wrestling team in high school. And then there was Martin, his best friend in college. Tony had followed Martin across the country so they could attend Seattle Police Academy together, just because Martin had asked. Both Derry and Martin had been straight, but Tony’s dick was too stupid to know that. It lusted after them like they were the only piece of salami in the butcher shop.

He’d never told either one of them.

Tony had married Marsha when he was twenty-two. By then he was so damned confused, he didn’t know what he was or wasn’t. He’d lusted after Derry and Martin, sure, but when he tried a couple of encounters at a gay bar, his body had voted a limp-phatic
no
. Marsha was funny and warm and a good friend. For the first six months of their marriage, Tony had been able to perform in bed only with rampant fantasies of Derry or Martin running in his head. But soon not even that would speed the deed. Marsha and he had split ways amicably after just a year.

After his divorce, Tony met Jason, a paramedic. Tony’s dick was nuts about Jason, and Jason was fond of the little big guy in return. For the first time in his life, Tony had a hard-on for someone that he could actually do something about. And boy did he! They’d had sex like it was on sale in bulk at Costco’s. But Jason was a flirt, and he got sick of Tony’s possessive ways. He split. Two years later, Tony met Aaron, a blond lawyer, and it was bingo time once again. But Aaron only lasted six months before he’d broken the news that he was moving to LA to work with the rich and famous. He left with visions of Brad Pitt and Robert Pattinson dancing in his head.

Derry, Martin, Jason, and Aaron. It was a pathetically short list of turn-ons for a man of thirty.

“So the last time you were able to successfully have sex with a partner was with Aaron, and that was two years ago?” Halloran asked.

“Sad, isn’t it? I’ve already ordered the tombstone for my penis at Everlasting Hills,” Tony agreed morosely.

“What about masturbation?”

Tony groaned. “Doc! You’re killing me. Can you call it something else? Like ‘tenderizing the steak’? I’d feel better.”

Jack grinned. His entire face changed when he smiled. He went from this overly serious, cold adult to a cheeky little kid. It was… nice. It gave Tony a warm feeling.

“You do realize this is a sex clinic,” Jack said. “We use big boy language here.”

“And I had an Italian mother. You say those things, I want to slap your face and then wash your mouth out,” Tony complained.

Jack laughed. “All right, let me rephrase. What about ‘spanking the monkey’? Are you able to enjoy that?”

“Yeah. At
that
, I’m a pro.”

“How often do you, er, take the monkey out for a whirl?”

Tony felt his face heat even further, if that was possible. “God, this is embarrassing. Let’s put it this way—they say once a day is good for your prostate, so my prostate should be doin’ all right. But I have to think about something specific to, you know, get going.”

“Derry, Martin, Jason or Aaron?” Jack guessed.

Tony nodded sadly. “My dick doesn’t even like porn. Never has. Christ. What’s the matter with me? Have you run across this before?”

Jack leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “Tony, you know that it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with anonymous hookups?”

Tony grunted his opinion of that. “Right. While nice in theory? The reality is, it’s just too hard to find that one guy. I’ve had four Mr. Rights—two were straight and the other two split. So Mr. Right-This-Second would do me fine. Can’t you help me just… be more normal? I mean, being a slut is every man’s God-given right. Am I wrong?”

Halloran chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that. But to answer your question, yes, we can help.”

Geez, the guy had his bedside manner down cold. He inspired all sorts of warm and fuzzy feelings of likeability and confidence, at least he did when he wasn’t grabbing Tony’s crotch and calling him a liar.

“Here’s how our therapy works,” Halloran said. “First, I’ll need to do a medical check. Sometimes these things can have physical causes, so we need to rule that out. Then we’ll have weekly counseling sessions to discuss your feelings and goals.”