walking around the room from couple to couple.
“And how do we do that? Do we crack the eggs before tossing them into the brownie batter? Or do we toss them––shells and all––into it, while thinking this will produce an edible batch?”
My nose wrinkles in disgust.
“Sometimes, we have to break in order to create something that isn’t broken. If we can’t expose our true selves, our partners are bound to find the shells no matter how much we stir them into the relationship. They’ll be able to taste those shells with every bite, which I guarantee will ruin the brownies. Sex is the brownie batter. It can satisfy cravings, and it can be good enough to eat, but it will never be the real thing unless you add every ingredient on that list, including the ones you need to crack. So…that’s what we’re going to do today. We’re going to tell our stories with our eyes. No words. Just a little crack of our outer shells to give our partners a glimpse of our gooey insides.”
A few people in the audience chuckle, putting a smile on Dr. Lorringer’s face too. “See? This can be fun. Now, I want you to turn toward your partner again and open up. Let them see the real you. Then, when the timer goes off, I want you to kiss. Again, only if you feel comfortable,” she adds with caution. “I want you to see if you can taste the difference. If you can feel it. Begin.”
Clearing his throat, Gage turns and gives me his full attention. At first, there’s a teasing grin on his face, and I can practically hear his deep voice telling me how ridiculous this whole thing is. I don’t blame him. This isn’t what I signed up for, either. Besides, we’re not in a real relationship. The only thing either of us wants is the brownie batter to satisfy our sweet tooth. And who wants to toy with salmonella, anyway? We won’t be baking this relationship in a pan. We’ll be devouring it while naked.
My mouth quirks up in the corner as I imagine licking brownie batter off Gage’s cheek, and he cocks his head in response before raising his brow along with a wicked grin. Rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand, he inches a little closer but doesn’t break eye contact. The heat from his chest has me breathing deeper in hopes of closing the rest of the distance between us. When his tongue darts out from between his lips before running along the seam, my pulse quickens.
Yeah, we’re definitely on the same page when it comes to brownie batter. We’re on the same page when it comes to a lot of things. Like the dolphin encounter, and the massage, and how we both try to deflect any kind of intimacy that could lead to something more. How we’re both scared. Me, of getting hurt. Him, of hurting someone again.
I gulp, losing my earlier lust.
I can see why his ex was a goner. I can see why she wanted to lock him down and throw away the key. From the outside, Gage looks like he has it all. He’s smart. He’s sexy. He has a good job. He’s funny. He enjoys football like I do. He doesn’t take life too seriously. He’s…he’s the whole package.
He admitted he loved her. That she would’ve been a great wife. That the problem was him. Not her. So, why is there a tiny voice inside my head that wonders if I could be enough? If I could change his mind. If I could be his happily ever after.
My jaw clenches. This is Dr. Lorringer’s fault. She’d been using the example of having someone dependable that loves you unconditionally to reel Gage in, but it did a number on me instead.
Releasing a shaky breath, I try not to have a complete breakdown in front of him when I know he can see my eyes welling with tears.
Don’t you dare cry right now, Nora.
I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself from the emotions that are hitting me from all sides, but it isn’t enough. I’m having a freaking panic attack, and I can’t run away without ruining this entire workshop for everyone in the room.
I want someone to take care of me when I’m sick. I want someone to call when I’ve had a bad day. I want someone to hold me and to make me feel better when the