With creeping guilt, I realize I’ve been flirting with him the whole second half of the appointment. Playful conversation, small smiles, tugging on the turtleneck, my eyes dancing across his wide shoulders.
Worse, he’s been reciprocating.
Becoming a rebound for a recently divorced client would be a massive lapse of judgment.
“You should do it,” I say, setting my pen down and folding my hands in my lap. “You can afford some risk, and there’s no reason to feel guilty about spending this time a little selfishly.”
“Well, if you think it’ll help,” he says tentatively. He runs his hand through his shaggy hair and sighs. “I don’t like this lost feeling. It’s empty.”
“A hobby is the right direction,” I say, pushing this path even harder. I truly want to help him. Half the battle is convincing clients to do something actionable. Most of the time, they ignore me, leaving me confused about what they really want.
Soren smiles at me again, and I bite my lip to control the returning smile.
“You’ve got dimples,” he comments.
“I’m giving you homework,” I say suddenly. He blinks, a little surprised. “Before your next appointment, I want you to try out photography.”
“You’re sure?” He’s staring at me intensely. I get the satisfying feeling that he’s going to listen to me and actually try what I suggest.
“Absolutely.”
“Okay.” He looks a bit overwhelmed, confused, and elated all at once. I’ve never seen someone react so dramatically about photography. Whatever the case, I feel good about this.
The minute he steps out of my office, I redownload my dating app. I have my own homework before his next appointment. Get laid so I stop flirting with him.
2
SOPHIE
My date from hell is getting the car warm while I listen toLast Christmasin the restaurant's bathroom. To say this date was a mistake is an understatement.
If Thomas came into couples therapy with someone, I’d pull the woman aside afterward and tell her to run. He seems to be operating under the belief that I’m impressed by him demeaning my intelligence. And that I think scoffing is a more attractive alternative to smiling. Oh God, and thesmell.
I couldn’t even enjoy my baked brie and cranberry jam. There’s rosemary in the jam, too. I’m such a sucker for savory mixed with sweet. But every time it started to melt on my tongue, I got a whiff of Thomas and had to discreetly spit it in my napkin. At some point, I had the bright idea to skip the chewing part and started to hide little pieces of my meal in a napkin so I could nibble on it later like a rat.
Maybe that’s weird, but I know it’s going to be delicious when I can eat it without the scent of unwashed ass tickling my palate. Which is why I’ve got a pocket full of sticky brie and the determination to get home as soon as possible.
Hiding in the bathroom is only going to save me for so long. At the table, I asked about taking me home. He sliced me a look that sent the hairs on the back of my neck up. I’m concerned about getting my brie and me home without a nasty fight.
“Ugh,” I lean over the bathroom sink. It was time for some hard truths with myself.
I saw Thomas on my dating app and thought he looked similar to my new client.That’swhy I swiped. Didn’t even read his bio. I saw the pictures, squinted, and a warmth spread low in my belly.
Go on, my inner therapist says.
Who cares he was sort of nasty when we chatted? The horny haze had me in such a strong grip that I lost every hard-earned year of wisdom I’ve achieved as a serial dater for the past decade.
I look up at myself in the mirror. The volume in my messy brown bob has deflated to match my enthusiasm.
What else?
I even had delusional fantasies that this could be a regular thing.
And why would you want a regular hook-up with the look-a-like?
The idea might have crossed my subconscious that I could speed-dial Thomas after every appointment with Soren.
There, I said it.
