“I know,” I say softly, then tilt my head. “But this doesn’t need to be dramatic. We’ve only been fooling around for three weeks.”
He almost laughs, then says, “It feels like a little more than fooling around.”
“It does,” I admit, frustrated with my own confession. I pause, collecting my thoughts. “But I’ve worked very hard to get where I’m at. Dr. Flanigan does not mess around with this kind of thing. Her warning has been sent. And while I didn’t confirmanything, if I did, I know I’d get written up, and she would most likely report me to the psychology licensing board if we don’t end things. But more than that, I’m not going to put Ellie in a difficult situation. People have therapists for many reasons, and a major one is so they can have an outside party help them evaluate their life.”
He’s quietly listening.
I hold my breath, pulling the tension in my shoulder blades tighter. “If I see Ellie ashertherapist and then asyourniece, it creates an inappropriate power dynamic in dual roles.”
He shakes his head. “No, I got it,” he responds. “So why don’t we just find Ellie a different therapist? Problem solved.”
“Becausewehave worked really hard in therapy for two years,” I answer, implying theweis Ellie and me. Then I gesture between us. “Andwehave only known each other three weeks. Plus, the code of ethics also states that any relationships with family members can’t happen until two years after the therapeutic relationship ends.”
His jaw pulses and defeat washes over his features. “I want to fix this for us.”
I nod, then rub my tired eyes. “I’ll figure it out. But right now, we can’t be... anything.” I struggle with the last word because in such a short time, JP has become many things to me.
He exhales and turns out of his stool. I stop him, gripping his shirt, then immediately letting go. He freezes, his eyes dancing all over me and watching my confusion. He feels so right that it aches. But he also feels impulsive. He feels like the crash and the burn.
I’ve worked hard to change my career without the support of anyone. I know the complexities of therapeutic relationships can seem nuanced but really, there is a right and a wrong.
I’m not going to throw any of it away for a maybe. Three weeks of good conversation and excellent kissing isn’t enoughto change my life, and I’m not even sure he’s worth ending my therapeutic relationship with Ellie, and that’s not fair to her. It took six months for her to open up to me. I’m not going to dump her onto the next therapist because I have a crush on her uncle. And if I do place her with another therapist, I will think it all the way through.
Sensing the turmoil inside my brain, JP reaches for my hand, and our fingers slowly weave together one by one. There’s a moment of pause. A split second of hesitancy. And then it all crashes together in one moment.
His lips are on mine, kissing me with unhinged ferocity. His hands pull at my shirt, mine grip the waistband of his jeans. I unbutton his jeans, and he slips his fingers up my shirt, unhooking my bra before setting me on top of the counter. I moan as he palms my breast, and I slide my hand down inside his boxers. His skin is soft as silk and hot as fire against my hand, yet every time he touches me, I shiver.
“Just one more time, okay?” I whisper against his lips.
He weaves his hand in my hair, moaning my name and asking, “Are you sure?”
I keep kissing him. Wet, hot, with his fingers gripping my hair so hard it almost hurts. Every pulse point in my body tells me I’m more than ready. I want him so bad that nothing else matters.
Until it does.
“Wait,” I say, placing my hands on his chest and pressing my forehead on top of them. I let out a groan of frustration. “We can’t do this.”
He’s breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against mine. It’s slight, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I nod, our foreheads still connected and our breathing barely slows down as our chests heave together. His hand curls aroundthe back of my neck, his fingers tangling into the baby hair at the bottom of my neck.
“So we just give up?” he asks, his voice sadder than I want it to be.
“For now,” I manage between breaths.
“I thought I was going to fall in love with you, Jules.”
I swallow hard and blink back tears. Then I laugh, if only so I don’t cry. I don’t want to like him. I don’t want the way he’s running his hand down my side and resting it on my hip to feel like he’s done it a million times before. I don’t want the way he’s looking at me with his green eyes to feel familiar. I don’t want to know how many freckles he has on his cheek or know the taste of the one on his lip. I don’t want to know that he tastes like sweet mint and JP.
I don’t want to know anything about him. Because if I didn’t know, I wouldn’t feel like I’m walking away from a million possibilities. It would just feel like I’m walking away from the stranger in 2C.
He brushes a thumb over my cheek, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, so I close my eyes, waiting for the last taste of him. When his lips hit my forehead, I exhale. “This could have been fun,” he says.
I chew on my lip. “Could have been,” I agree.
“I don’t want it to be this way,” he says, and he squeezes my hand.
I nod, feeling far too charmed to understand the dramatics of this goodbye. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I believe that anything instantaneous isn’t sustainable, so my mind tells my heart this is for the best.
