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Blake’s smile is instantaneous, transforming his chiseled good looks into something soft and almost boyishly eager. The temperature in the room ratchets up another notch. Good grief, why is he so attractive? I really, really need him to be unattractive right now. “I know we’re already running late, but I was thinking we should talk before we get started.” This is it. I’m going to tell him. It’ll be fine. My heart hammers in my chest.
“Sure. About what?” Blake leans against the sofa, and I attempt to speak, but despite practicing this conversation multiple times over the past week, I don’t know what to say. Imagine! Me. Speechless. No one who knows me would believe it. At this moment, I have a profound empathy for Jules because this panicky feeling is awful.
“Well…” Say it. Tell him! There’s a long pause, then like a dam bursting, words fall out of my mouth in a rush. “Nutrition and assessing your eating habits.” Oh gods, what is wrong with me? “We should decide if any changes need to be made there, too.” Where have these nerves come from? It’s so out of character and I have no idea how to stop myself. “I know our sessions are supposed to be focused on relaxation and de-stressing, but what you eat can have a direct impact on how you feel. I highly recommend it to all my clients. If you’re interested in that, we can save it for the end.” I finally stop and take a breath.
Blake grins like he finds my babbling amusing. I amnotamusing. Unless I want to be. Which is not right now. Right now, I am focused and fabulous. I raise myself up to my full five feet, nine inches, plant my hands on my hips and look him in the eyes. “So, what do you think?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal either way. “Sure. That sounds great.” His phone vibrates on the coffee table. “One second.” He scoops it up and taps at it, pauses, then taps some more before setting it down and smiling at me. “Okay. Ready.”
Oh, no. This will not do. “Blake.” I hold his gaze, my nerves settling. “Would it be possible to put your phone in another room for the next hour so you’re not tempted to react every time it vibrates?” I phrase it as a question, but from the way he seems to be attached to the phone, I won’t be taking no for an answer.
He hesitates, then nods. “Sure. I should have done that before you got here. I’ll just put it in the kitchen.” He jogs away, phone in hand, and I try not to ogle his backside under the thin fabric of his sweats. I definitely ogle his backside, and continue to do so until he disappears from view. Great. So I have two settings today: nervous or horny. Lord love a duck.
When he returns, I smile encouragingly. “If you’re ready, we should probably get started.” Really, what we should do is talk. I need to tell him who I am. If he’s already figured it out, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to hide it. I feel his eyes following me, so I take a deep breath and close mine, centering myself. After a few breaths, some of the tension dissipates.
Until Blake steps up behind me. “Stef.”
He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck, and I shiver at the memory of how soft his lips felt ghosting over my skin. His smooth sensual voice saying my name makes me weak in the knees. I want to melt into a puddle at his feet. Or plaster myself against him. Whichever he’d like best. If I lean back just a bit, his whole body would be flush with mine. Would he grab my hips and nuzzle my neck like he did at Club Cake?
Nope, nope, nope! Not going there. I whirl around with every intention of getting this session started, but I’ve made a huge miscalculation. We’re mere inches apart, and it wouldn’t take much to feel his lips to brush against mine. For a very,verylong moment, neither of us moves.
If I don’t break this tension, I’m going to do something foolish like slide my hands over his firm pecs, up his neck and into his hair, pulling him against me, kissing him until we forget why we’re here. Good gods, I’m a mess. Why is he this potent? It was bad enough in the club. I saw him across the dance floor, and it was like a siren song. He pulled me in, and I didn’t want to resist. Now, this close, it’s almost impossible.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you walk up.” My voice is hoarse and soft and his eyes scan my face as the air between us becomes supercharged. I know in my bones this is it.
“It’s you, isn’t it? From Club Cake.” His voice is low but steady, maybe a bit curious but not at all hostile, and until now I hadn’t realized how much I feared that would be the case.
All the air rushes from my lungs, my knees wobbling as my vision goes fuzzy. I prepare myself for him to ask me to leave. “Yes. I’m sorry. I recognized you right away last week, but when you didn’t react, it didn’t seem like there was any point in mentioning it. If you decided not to continue the sessions it wouldn’t matter. And if you did, I promise I had every intention of telling you. Then I got distracted, and before I knew it, I was in my car driving away.” I try not to fidget, but I wish I knew what he was thinking.
He’s too close, muddling my brain with his gorgeousness and the way he smells, like sweat and something clean. Bodywash? Deodorant? Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating, and I want to press my nose to his skin and sniff him. “It didn’t seem like something I should put in an email. But Iwasplanning to tell you today, before we started our session, in case it made a difference to you.” I stare at his sexy mouth because how can I not? “But I got distracted again.”
He smirks like he knows what distracted me last week and what’s distracting me now. Gorgeous jerk. “It doesn’t.” His voice snaps me out of my fog, and my eyes shoot up to his. “Make a difference, I mean. You’ve been nothing but professional, and it’s not like we knew I’d end up becoming your client when we hooked up.”
I take a full breath for the first time in eons. “True, but I should have said something when I first recognized you. Not everyone’s comfortable running into a hookup in the light of day, let alone working with them.”
It’s distracting having this conversation while standing so close, but neither of us seems to want to move. “I’m sure that’s true. Not that I hook up with people often. Besides, I think we’re demonstrating that we can work together and not cross that line.”
And that reminder bursts the proximity bubble. At least for me. I’m supposed to be a professional, and I need to start acting like one. I square my shoulders and put distance between us so I’m not distracted by whatever intoxicating pheromones he’s dousing me with. “For the record, I don’t normally do hookups either. That requires a lot of trust on my part. Not everyone is accepting of people like me.”
Blake shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the couch, relaxed and sexy as anything. “People like you?”
Is he purposely being obtuse? He’s a smart man. Surely he can extrapolate. Then again, maybe not. I sigh, torn between getting the session on track or word-vomiting my truth. And what would be the point since we’re not together now and not going to be in the future? It was a one-time thing. But I’m also not going to “pass” because I can. I’m proud of who I am and I didnotwake up today to apologize for that. If I tell Blake and he has an issue with it, we don’t have to work together. I’ll be disappointed, but it won’t be the first time someone rejected me because I refuse to conform.
I do need to work, though, and ostracizing Blake could impact me financially since much of my income comes from referrals. Crap. Here goes nothing. “Yes, people like me. People who dress against gender norms. But in my case, I also don’t identify with the gender binary.”
His brows draw down in confusion. “You mean you’re non-binary?”
Just the fact that he knows the term gives me hope. “That’s one presentation of gender identity non-conformance. But there are as many gender identities as there are people who can experience them. Like just about everything in life, gender is a spectrum.” Anyone who says differently can get stuffed.
Blake’s quiet for a moment, and I like that he’s being thoughtful about this. “Is it okay to ask how you identify?”
“I’m gender-fluid. It’s something I realized about myself relatively recently, and embracing it has helped me be happier and more comfortable in my own skin.” I tilt up my chin and cross my arms, ready for him to tell me that’s not how gender works. If I had a dime for every time someone said that or worse to me, I’d be rich.
But Blake’s expression is curious and open, and I take a cautious breath. Really, Blake’s been pretty chill about everything so far. Maybe this won’t turn out terribly. “So, how does that work? I’m sorry if I’m using inappropriate language or terms, and please correct me if I am. As far as I know, I’ve never met anyone who was gender-fluid, and I have only the basic understanding from limited things I’ve read.” He frowns. “Is that alright to ask?”
He seems to be sincerely curious, not messing with me, and I’m not getting a violent or verbally abusive vibe from him. “Yes. I’m happy to talk about it with people who have real interest since questions are the primary way we learn.” I sit cross-legged on the floor, and Blake joins me, which makes things more relaxed. “So, some days, I wake up and, without a doubt, feel female.” I lean closer and make sure he’s paying attention. “It’snota choice. I don’t pretend to be female, and it’s not a persona I’m putting on. It justis. And using she/her pronouns feels correct. On many of those days, I want to wear pretty skirts and heels and full makeup so my outside matches my inside.”
Blake nods. “Like at the club.”
