Page 50 of The Plus One Pact

"Mindfulness and meditation?" he asks.

"And masturbation," I say. "That's usually the cornerstone. Do you masturbate?"

"Doesn't everyone?" he asks.

A dodge. He's not comfortable answering. If we were in therapy, I'd push in a different way. But this dynamic is unusual, to say the least. "If you were a normal client, I'd ask you to tell me about the last time you had sex. How it felt. Then I might ask about the last time you touched yourself. What you imagined. If you used any aids."

"Sex toys?" he asks.

"Or pornographic materials. Images, videos, erotic stories. Pictures sent by exes. A lot of people prefer that."

His eyes flare with something. Interest. Or confession. I can't tell. I can't read him right. I'm too caught between worlds.

"But that sort of talk isn't very sexy," I say. "The clinical approach. It puts people in their heads. Makes it harder to get into their bodies."

"Sometimes therapy is counter-productive?"

"Sometimes," I nod. "Sometimes, you need to think less, and do more. If we could team up, create a full-service therapy offering… we could help people so much better."

"Like a sex surrogate?" he asks.

It shouldn't surprise me he knows about sex surrogates—he's in the business—but it does. Did he learn about them from that Holly Hunter movie? Or does he know someone who performs sex therapy via touch and, well, active practice. "Like the next step, after a sex surrogate," I say.

"If only we could tell my brother that's how we got together."

"To create a sex therapy empire," I say.

He smiles. "So, what would you tell me? To keep the mood sexy?"

"I don't know. I'm a lot better at clinical theory than dirty talk."

His smile shifts to something sexual. "Do you want to practice?"

"If you'd enjoy it," I say. "I do want this to be more… real."

"Does it make you nervous?"

I nod.

"Then I would." His eyes meet mine. "I find your blush incredibly sexy."

My cheeks flame in response.

"But it's up to you. I think that’s what I want. I want you to tell me exactly what you want to do to me."

Chapter Twelve

Ivy

Tell me exactly what you want to do to me.

It's another dodge, but I can't say I mind, exactly.

There are so many things. Too many to count. My mind whirls with possibilities.

My eyes move around the room, taking it in like it’s new again. The clean white walls. The framed art in bold colors. The warmth and life in the space. But, somehow, it has a certain emptiness, the way my apartment does.

He doesn't fully inhabit it. Not yet anyway.