Page 2 of Hold Me for Now

There’s a beeping from behind me. I whirl just as the door swings open. A man walks in, his shoulders hunched and his cheeks flushed red. He’s decent-looking, taller than average, with wavy brown hair and warm brown eyes.

It’s his clothing that takes him from “hottie” to “meh” real fast. His jeans are too whitewashed. His button-down shirt is too stiff, the collar too sharply ironed. Scuffed brown loafers give him a wholesome vibe.

I cast a critical eye over him, wondering who picked out that outfit. The whole look screams Mom-approved, like he’s a teenager forced into something “nice” for Sunday school.

Definitelynotwhat you’d wear to fuck a stranger.

Of course, I shouldn’t judge. My fashion sense tends toward punk with a touch of goth. Today, my hair is dyed black as midnight, my skirt barely skims mid-thigh, and my fishnet stockings have a hole in one knee. I like to tell my friends I tore the stocking on purpose because I can’t stand anything too perfect, but that’s a lie. The truth is I tripped on my way to class at NYU and skinned my knee, like some four-year-old on the playground. One nice thing about living in New York is that people mind their own business. No one asked what happened or if they could help when I hobbled along with blood gushing down my leg. Of course…that’s also the bad thing about living in New York.

This guy who just walked in—he doesn’t live here. Dr. Desire said he deliberately paired us because we were “geographically separate” and wouldn’t ever have to see each other after today. The doctor also said he picked us because we were “emotionally and physically compatible.” I’d spent a lot of time wondering what that means but still hadn’t come up with a good answer.

Guess I’m about to find out.

Chapter two

Themanhasspottedme, not a hard feat since I’m the only living thing in the room. His steps falter before he forces himself forward. He approaches with his hand out to shake mine. “Hi. I’m—”

“No real names,” Dr. Desire interrupts, his voice sharp as a scalpel.

The man stops like he just ran into a brick wall. The hand that was reaching for me falls, and his cheeks stain an even brighter shade of red. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Oh…er…I feel like we need to call each other something…?” He trails off uncertainly.

“Let’s use initials,” I suggest, taking one step toward him. Sympathy stirs in me. He’s just as lost in this situation as I am. “My name—initial—is K.” It takes my full concentration to leave it at that. The habit of saying my full name is so strong.

“I’m T,” he says stiffly, snapping his mouth shut after that single letter, as if he can trap the rest of his name in his mouth.

“Nice to meet you,” I say pleasantly and shake his hand.

“You too.”

Now that we’re closer, I look him over some more. Tan skin like he works outdoors. Large hands. Clean cut, but there’s a tiny scab at the base of his throat like he nicked himself shaving. Hair cropped short, allowing slightly pointed ears to peek out.

I breathe out a sigh, relieved. I can work with those ears. I reada lotof smutty fantasy—fairy porn, as my friend Veronica calls it. The heroes in those books are always ridiculously hot fae warriors who steal human women away to their glittering courts.

Maybe if I imagine T as a fairy prince, one cursed, perhaps, then I can get through the next few hours and walk out of here a new woman.

“You may begin,” says Dr. D—I’ve decided to call him that. If the rest of us are going by our first initial, he might as well too.

“Umm,” hedges T, giving me enough time to wonder if it’sTed, Tim, Tom?

T directs his question to the mirror. “What exactly are we supposed to do? A little instruction would be helpful, please.”

There’s a hint of impatience when Dr. D answers, “As I stated in the email, you two will engage in sexual intercourse. I will watch and provide direction when needed.”

T’s brown eyes find my green ones as his brow puckers in confusion.

“How exactly are we supposed to have—” he stumbles over the word, his eyes shifting from mine, “—intercourse?”

“However you like. The details will be left to you and Ms. K to work out. Each couple is different. I find that you two coming together organically works better than me laying out each step for you. My role is purely supportive. When I see areas that could use assistance, I’ll chime in.” That’s the most we’ve heard Dr. D speak so far.

T rubs the back of his neck with one hand, staring at the floor as if it might provide answers.

A thought occurs to me, one that could explain his awkwardness. “Have you…have you never done it before?”

That makes his head snap up. “Yes,” he says, his voice too loud, too indignant. “Lots of times.”

I hold up my hands. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought, well, I wondered…”

I’ve pissed T off. He crosses his arms over his chest defensively and declares, “I’m married, so I have sex all the time.”

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