Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,65

Because if it is, there are strategies we can discuss to alleviate some of your fears.”

“That’s very kind.” It really is, and I sense she’s not just speaking as a therapist. That she’s someone who could become a close friend. “I can’t say I’ve had any exposure to gunfire,” I admit. “But I don’t like surprises.”

“Ah, I see.”

I wonder if she does. If she sees everything, not just my fears. If she can tell by looking at me that I’m sleeping with her brother, and that it’s gone way beyond the plan of having sex once to get it out of our systems. Would she tell me in cautious, clinical terms what an abysmally bad idea it is?

I don’t need a shrink to tell me that. I know it.

But somehow, I can’t stop myself from blurting the question. “Is it true about getting closure? About, um…ways to get someone out of your system by being intimate with that person.” I bite my lip as heat rushes my face. “I’m asking for a friend.”

Mari leans forward in her chair. “Have a seat.” She says the words plainly, kindly, with a tone I find myself obeying without question.

Sinking down into the metal and wood chair, I glance around the coffee shop. Colleen and Patti must be in the back room, and Dean’s not due for ten minutes.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, keeping my voice low. “I tried Googling it, but I didn’t find much, and—anyway, I just wondered. You told me at orientation that I could ask personal questions, so—” I shrug, aware that I may have just stuck my foot in it.

But Mari regards me with a calm, professional expression. “Anything you say to me is confidential,” she says. “I do have to warn you that conflict of interest precludes me from serving as your therapist, but I can certainly discuss the issue in general terms.”

“I understand.” I also notice she saw right through my bullshit about asking for a friend.

I sip my latte, grateful Colleen suggested the cardamom. It has a complex citrusy, minty spice to it, which is a nice change from vanilla. “I mean, I get that this show is partly about people hooking up,” I add. “I understand that’s part of the social experiment.”

“Absolutely.” Mari studies me for a few beats. “What do you think changed from when you applied for the position?” Her voice is achingly kind, and any defensiveness I’m feeling dissolves like a sugar cube in hot tea. “As I recall, you indicated that you would prefer to staple your eyebrows to the carpet than find yourself in a romantic relationship.”

“I did write that, didn’t I?” God, I’m an idiot. Oh, and also— “It’s not a relationship.”

She doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at me with one of those wise, thoughtful expressions shrinks are so good at. It occurs to me I haven’t actually said Dean’s name. Does she know we’re involved, or does she think we’re talking about some random guy?

“Vanessa.” She crosses her legs, never breaking eye contact. “There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults engaging in mutually fulfilling physical contact, assuming they’ve both agreed to those terms.” She pauses, brow furrowing. “You’re consenting, right?”

“Enthusiastically.” I wince. “Yes. I’m consenting.”

Mari doesn’t blink. “There’s clearly something you’re getting from the arrangement. It might behoove you to explore what that is, and whether you’re truly comfortable with whatever it might be costing you in the bigger picture. Perhaps the trade-off is worth it, if you’re ultimately having your needs met.”

“Right.” She has a point, but all I can think about is having my needs met. About the things I’m getting out of the arrangement.

Multiple orgasms.

The best sex of my life.

The pleasure of touching the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever—

“Okay,” I say, pretty sure I shouldn’t be thinking these things about Dean with his sister sitting across from me. “I guess I can explore that.”

“That’s a terrific idea.”

I love how she frames it like I’m the brilliant one, when all I’ve done is think dirty thoughts about her brother.

She tugs a pen out of her bun, and I expect her hair to tumble down around her shoulders. But no, she’s got two more pens in there, plus maybe a chopstick?

“I’m writing down the name of another therapist who’s top-notch,” she says. “He’s in LA, but he does online appointments. I’d be happy to make an introduction if you’re interested.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” I pocket the card and wonder if I’ll ever use it.