" Yes, he’s my psychiatrist,” I say quietly as I stare out at the road. I can’t meet his eyes right now. I don’t want to see judgment there.
“And why are you seeing a psychiatrist?”
“My unruly sex drive?”
“Irish...” the way he says my nickname makes me glance in time to catch him lift in his seat and tug at his jeans slightly, as if to make himself more comfortable.
“Tell me. "

― K.A. Tucker