Chapter 6
SIX
“It’s Evie,”she corrects me as soon as I’ve shut the door to my office behind her.
I chuckle silently but stop as soon as she swivels to face me. “I hope you don’t take my formalities in front of Doreen as a sign of disrespect. It’s quite the opposite.”
She blinks and her mouth falls open, drawing my attention to the perfect form of its natural pink pout. “Every time someone calls me Ms. Vaughn, I think of my mother. Let’s just say I’ve made it my life goal to be nothing like her.”
A tinge of excitement lights me up from inside at this new piece of information. Even if I had guessed that she had difficulties with her mother, the confirmation from Evie is oh-so-satisfying. “Then I apologize, Evie. Can we start again?”
Her frown begins to smooth. “Sure.”
“Why don’t we start with why you decided to come in tonight?” I try not to let concern break through my features and tone. I’ve only known Evie for the past two weeks, but there’s no denying she’s a strong, smart woman who lives her life by comfort and habit. While I couldn’t know for sure, I had thought she might come back to the office.
The why—what triggered her—is what I want to find out.
Instead of answering my question, her eyes shift from mine and begin to roam around the office. She takes one step forward, then another, until she’s slowly perusing my diplomas and the personal photos on my wall.
“Your decor is so much different than J.D.’s.”
“Artistic tastes are cultivated over time and with experience. From what I know about Jenkins, he was a homebody. Perhaps that has something to do with it.”
She pauses while tracing a slow finger over a piece of art I collected during my studies in Athens, Greece. “Plato’s Academy,” I tell her, in case she isn’t aware. “The world’s first university. What I would give to be among such a brilliant cast of philosophical minds.”
Evie glances over her shoulder, her expression one of curiosity and confusion, like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle just by looking at the image on the box. “I thought you majored in psychology.”
“Psychology and philosophy share the same roots, I suppose. What the human condition is versus how and why the human mind functions the ways it does.” I shrug. “I studied both, but psychology was the clear career path for me.”
Evie moves on from the painting and approaches the bookshelf that wraps the side and back walls behind my desk. This time, I follow her, staying several feet behind. She looks over the books, stopping every now and then to pull something from the shelf and examine it.
I just watch her, intrigued by her shifting focus as she moves around my office. I almost forgot that she’s here for a free consultation, but none of that matters. This is her time. Her session. And if she wants to spend it familiarizing herself with my office, then so be it.
“Certified sex therapist? That’s a thing?”
I almost choke. There’s a reason I keep that certification on the back of my bookshelf. “Uh, yeah. That’s a thing.” My urge to change the subject takes control. “Um, so you didn’t mention what brought you back here today.”
She raises one shoulder and continues past the bookshelf, around my desk, her focus centered on the single photo of Lucy and me that sits there before her eyes flit to mine. “I had a bad day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And I truly am. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Evie shakes her head, her eyes leaving mine. “Not particularly.” She continues her path around my desk and over to the long window that overlooks the road parallel to the Tuckasegee River. “I would normally call J.D. on days like this. I tried.”
A pang hits my chest. Is that guilt I feel for replacing the one man she trusted? Or jealousy for not being the one she trusts? “You can talk to me, Evie. I know I’m not Jenkins Wright, but I’m here for you in the same way.”
Doubt casts a clear shadow on her expression, moving like a dark cloud, as she walks over to the couch. “What made you want to study psychology?” she asks as she sits in a careful motion.
I reach the front of my desk and lean against it, crossing my ankles in front of me. “As a child, I always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge that only grew stronger as I aged. Books and nature were all I had to satisfy my palate until I was old enough to be on my own. At eighteen, I spent every waking minute in the library at Duke University. One of the professors there took notice of me, and we got to talking. He took me under his wing.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Just like that?”
I cock my head. “There’s a bit more to the story, but we don’t need to get into the details now. This is your time, Evie. What do you want to talk about?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “What makes you think we’re not already talking about it?”
Chuckling, I realize I might have underestimated the woman. “You’d like to know more about the professor who mentored me and helped me become who I am today?”
Her eyes sparkle as she nods. “Very much.”
Accepting that response, I sort through the many answers I could possibly give before I walk to my bookshelf to pull out the short story that changed my life. After I hand it to her, I walk back to my desk and wait.
She reads the title aloud. “Waterfall Effect.” Her brow creases as she turns to the back of the book to read the description only to find none there. “What is this?”
“An allegory.” I give her a small smile. “Written by Dr. Phillip Rohls, a philosophy professor, also known as my mentor. ‘Waterfall effect’ refers to a philosophical approach to memory and how simply existing in nature affects our memory over time. The way we bend and alter our past experiences based on our surroundings. The way we hold onto some things and forget others.”
I point to the book she’s flipping through. “That was the book my mentor found me reading in the library when he first approached me. I had no idea he was the author until we started diving into the meaning behind the work. Apparently, one of Dr. Rohls’s patients had gone through trauma that resulted in a form of amnesia. She was a victim in a string of mysterious murders in Balsam Grove, not too far from here—the only victim lucky enough to make it out alive.”
“I heard about that,” Evie says, her eyes wide with what looks like fear. “That poor girl. They say the person who did it found victims all over the Appalachians. What he did to them was…” She trails off, shuddering.
I nod, remembering it too. “It changed her forever. Well, Dr. Rohls dedicated his allegory after her. In fact,” I add, surprised at myself for wanting to tell her this next bit, “I’m writing a little something of my own.”
Evie relaxes into the back of the couch, a smile tilting her lips. “Tell me more.”
My own smile widens in response. “I think I’ve already overshared. Should we turn the tables back around to you?”
“Not yet,” she says. “I have one more question.”
I raise my eyebrows in anticipation.
“Why do you have so many certifications that have nothing to do with your practice?” she finally asks.
Tilting my head, I try to search her eyes, but the twelve feet of distance between us makes it hard. “I use them all in some way or another.”
Her eyes narrow, but a small smile still plays on her lips. “Certified sex therapist? Explain that one.”
“Okay.” I chuckle. “A couple of years ago, I had a longtime patient I’d been seeing for her commitment issues. When she finally met the right person, she couldn’t live up to his expectations in bed. I was only able to explore so much with her and ended up losing her as a client. That was when I took up the additional studies, so that would never happen again.”
“And what exactly is sex therapy?”
I shouldn’t find her questions as intriguing as I do, but I try to appease her with a simple answer. “It’s getting to the root cause of sexual anxiety and adopting a positive relationship with sex.” When she doesn’t respond, I decide to ask the question I’m not sure if I should. “Is sex something you’d like to talk about?”
She balks at my question, a short, sharp laugh bursting from her. “With you?” She shakes her head. “No.”
“Is that something you and Jenkins would talk about?”
Laughter bubbles up from deep in her belly. “Are you insane? There is no way in hell I would ever talk to J.D. about my sex life.”
Her reaction throws me for a loop. “You said he knew you better than anyone.”
“He does,” she says, eyes wide. “He knows my past, he knows my fears, and he knows all about my family drama. Those things combined are more than anyone else knows. I don’t see what sex has to do with any of that.”
“Maybe nothing,” I say, nodding. “Or maybe everything.” My eyes linger on hers. “That’s for you to answer. Either way, sex is generally a big part of life.” I hesitate, wondering if I should keep going about this after she said she didn’t want to talk about it with me. “Sex benefits our health in so many ways. It relieves stress, promotes happiness, provides exercise?—”
“I know all that.” She sighs. “I just mean, what does sex have to do with my fears, hopes, and dreams?”
To me, the answer is fairly obvious, but I’m not sure if Evie is ready to hear it—and I can’t ask her more questions to explore this topic with her, considering she already told me no.
“Then let’s leave sex out of it. How about we talk about your relationships, instead? Friendships, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends.”
She stares back at me, and I swear I see a challenge in her eyes. “I got out of a casual relationship a few months ago.” The way she scans me now makes me wonder if she’s looking for a reaction. “The sex was terrible.”
My internal fist pump is yet another indicator that we should not be anywhere near this subject. What is wrong with me? I clear my throat and ask, “How so?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I frown. “Not really. What was terrible about it? Was it painful?”
She lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “No.”
“Okay, then, was it the guy? Was he selfish with his needs?”
“No, he definitely tried to…” She pauses like she’s not sure how to phrase what she wants to say.
“But he couldn’t take care of you.” I shouldn’t make that kind of statement. It’s not for me to speak to what she needs to say. She should be entirely sorting it out for herself.
“You’re talking about orgasms,” she says.
I nod. “Of course.”
Her cheeks pinken slightly. “Then no. He couldn’t.”
Aha.“Well, you mentioned this was a casual relationship. Perhaps you were craving an emotional connection?”
Her headshake comes too quickly. “Sex is sex. It doesn’t have to be emotional. There doesn’t have to be a cosmic shift in the tides for me to get off every single time.”
She’s not wrong. “But you couldn’t get off?”
She squirms in her seat. “No.”
“So, what do you think the problem was?”
Evie frowns, and the way she looks down, like she’s ashamed, tells me the answer before she even speaks. “He wanted more than a casual thing.” She runs her palms down the front of her skirt. “He wanted the emotional connection, and I didn’t.” Realization flickers across her features. “I guess it all fucked with my head. It’s my own fault.”
“Why are you so quick to put that blame on yourself?”
“Because I’m the problem. I’ve always been the problem.” She shrugs. “Casual sex is so much easier with men I haven’t known since childhood. I should have never entertained a fling with Gabe.”
Gabe. The name triggers annoyance in the back of my mind, but I can’t be sure she’s talking about the cop. I push the thought away. “Sometimes when a person feels guilty for their actions, they self-sabotage. Do you think that’s why the sex was terrible?”
She thinks about it then nods.
“Can I ask why you didn’t want to explore an emotional connection with this Gabe guy?”
The way she looks into my eyes before responding makes me realize just how intensely I’m anticipating her question. She shakes her head firmly. “I guess it’s the same reason I don’t explore emotional connections with any guy. It has nothing to do with Gabe in particular.”
“And why do you think that is?”
Her mouth opens then closes.
“I’m not judging you, Evie,” I say to clarify. “I’m only trying to help you understand.”
She shifts in her chair, indicating discomfort. “I don’t know.”
The quick, dismissive answer tells me she might have some inkling about why she avoids attachment, but I let it go. Clearly, she’s not ready to explore those reasons why yet.
“Okay,” I say. “Then why sex? What do you get out of it?”
Her cheeks burn with color again, this time a darker red. “I… I don’t know. I suppose it’s something I can get lost in.”
Narrowing my eyes at this answer, I try again. “Close your eyes, Evie.”
They flutter closed.
“Why is sex something you want to get lost in?”
She visibly swallows.
“Take your time,” I say. “Think back on your experiences.”
Her breathing goes shallow, and her palms rest in her lap. “It’s like… an out-of-body experience. In a weird way, I can be someone completely different. Someone confident. I feel… powerful and in control.”
She takes in a deep breath then lets it out slowly as if she’s finally relaxing. “There’s something about the feel of a man between my thighs while I’m riding him, slipping up and down his erection while gradually quickening my pace.” Her thighs part slightly, and her chest heaves a bit. “The contact of our bodies. The sensation of it all building and building. The orgasm that brings me crashing down.” Her breath hitches with her words, like she’s experiencing it all right there in the office. “It’s all so freeing. So addicting.” She inhales deeply and opens her eyes to meet mine. “And none of that requires an emotional connection.”
Fuck me.For the first time in my entire career as a therapist, I question just how much of a professional I am. I’m hard—so fucking hard—and all I can do is squeeze my hands together above my lap to try to hide it.
Evie doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she stands up, straightens her skirt, and flushes intensely. If I had to guess, I would say her pussy was soaked after the mental picture she just worked up. I imagine this is how she would look after fucking me in the exact way she just described.
“I should get home. Thank you for seeing me.”
I want to leap to her from where I’m leaning on my desk, but she’s sure to notice the way my pants have tented in reaction to her words. “You’re welcome anytime, Evie. I’ll have Doreen call you tomorrow to book your next session.”
Evie’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “That’s not necessary. This was a one-time thing. I’m not sure I should come back.”
Disappointment crushes me. “Wait. What?”
She turns away to walk toward the door. A growl roars inside me, stemming from frustration that surpasses my greater instincts. Why does this woman have to be so infuriating?
I step forward, doubling the stride of my steps to catch up with her just as she’s opened the door. “Evie, please. Just wait a second.”
She swivels around, catching me off guard since she’s standing so close. Her eyes burn into mine. “Coming here was a bad idea.”
“It was a great idea,” I argue, confusion swirling through me. Talk about whiplash.
Her eyes slip down my body to where my hard-on is finally deflating. Her lips turn up in a smirk as her gaze fixes back on mine, and she tilts her head as if in challenge. “You sure about that?”
I don’t have an answer. I can’t defend myself. I can’t explain my way out of this one. So I let her go, still somehow confident that no matter what she’s saying now… she’ll be back.