Page 40 of Look, Don't Touch

“And you haven’t been doing that all along?” He gives a dry laugh.

“No. I’ve been pretty mild with you.”

He gives me that heavy long exhale I’ve missed. It’s quite endearing. “Okay.”

“I want you to ask a woman to coffee this week. It doesn’t have to be the woman, but it can be. This exercise is about putting yourself out there.”

“I’ve asked women to coffee before.”

“Women who you wanted to touch?” He doesn’t respond. “Work outings and friend group events don’t count.”

“Fine,” he groans.

“And I?—”

“And?” Disbelief coats his chirp. It borders on indignation.

“And I want you to touch her.” I hold up my hand before he speaks. “It doesn’t have to be a big touch, but it has to be a touch. Whether a guiding hand on the small of the back, a graze of the fingers, or a kindly touch of the arm.”

“It doesn’t have to be skin on skin?”

“No. Unless you ask a stripper to coffee. Even still, she’ll be appropriately dressed for the weather. The strippers I know wear more clothes than the nuns I know.”

“You know strippers and nuns?”

“You don’t?” I counter.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Live a little, Mr. Judge. You don’t know what you’re missing. They’re some of the best people I know.” I adjust the blindfold, then tap my lips for a second, thinking. “A no-touch lap dance might be great for your next homework assignment.”

“Next?” He chokes.

I shrug. “Depends on how well you do with this one. If you go all in, I’ll push the lap dance out?—”

“How long?”

“Depends.” I fight my grin.

He’s quiet. At least his mouth is. His fingers are going a mile a minute on the arm of the chair. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it. I wonder if he does it in important meetings.

“Have coffee with me.” His voice is firm and determined, even in its thin texture.

It takes me more than a moment to compute the words. It takes more than a few more to collect my suddenly scattered thoughts and settle my bucking pulse.

“I’m thrilled you feel comfortable enough to ask me, but you're my patient. Besides, I can’t exactly walk in public in my blindfold.”

“Take it off.” Again, he’s direct.

Everything stills. I swear my heart stops completely. This is a huge step for him. A leap, really, and I didn’t have to apply much pressure for him to rise to the challenge.

I can’t go with him.

My job is to keep him progressing and keep things professional. I already haven’t done a great job of that with him. Going for coffee would send the wrong message. This isn’t a friendship. Yes, I have a friendship with Astor, but that developed over more than a decade, and I’m no longer paying her as my therapist.

If it was any other client, I wouldn’t go. But I’m afraid he’ll backslide if I don’t. And I want out of this fucking blindfold.

A first.

---