Page 38 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
“Go on in. She’s expecting you.”
With nervous knots tying intricate patterns inside my stomach, I step through the doorway, but stop almost immediately.
A middle-aged woman sits behind a desk. Her hair is dark but threaded with silver, and she smiles and removes a pair of purple reading glasses when she spots me.
“Hi there. Come on in.”
I take one more tentative step forward, then stop.
This was a stupid idea. My life has felt a little out of control lately. I thought talking with someone—a professional—might help. Now I don’t think I can go through with it.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“It’s fine. Wolfgang, right?”
“Wolfie.” I nod.
“Wolfie, it’s fine. You’re not wasting my time. And it’s okay to feel apprehension. But since you’re here, maybe we can talk for a few minutes. Please sit down.” She gestures toward the seating in the office. When I don’t budge, the therapist raises her hands in a show of surrender, her palms facing me. “Whatever you want to do. I’m only here to help.”
I release a slow breath. “I guess I could stay for a few minutes.”
She gives me a warm smile, but I can feel her eyes appraising me, watching everything as I select a seat—the chair across from her desk, rather than one of the cozy armchairs under the windows.
“So, how does this work?” I ask, pressing my hands into my knees.
God, I feel so jumpy, so on edge. This is ridiculous. It’s just that I’ve never opened up and told someone my truth before. But now . . . with Penelope . . . it’s different. She has me wanting to try things I’ve never been interested in before. Intimacy. A relationship, maybe. Hell, I don’t know.
“Well, usually people start off by telling me what’s going on in their lives. Usually, they’re here because they need help navigating a situation or working through a season they’re facing.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
Removing her glasses, she smiles again, lines forming beside her eyes as she watches me. She seems nice enough. I guess I just didn’t count on it being so hard to open up to a complete stranger, even if this is her job.
“So, what’s been going on in your life, Wolfie?”
I press my hands together in my lap. “Well, um . . . my roommate’s being really secretive lately.”
She doesn’t say anything else. She just keeps watching me, and when she finally opens her mouth to reply, the words are not at all what I’m expecting. “I don’t think you’re here to talk about your roommate.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head.
I release a long, strained exhale. Why the fuck am I here?
The other night, when Penelope sneaked into my room, I found myself wanting to be someone different, to be bold and reckless and just give in to everything. But sadly for me, when I woke up in the morning, I was still that same broken guy. I have no idea why, but I thought this would help. Now it feels way too invasive.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not comfortable with this.”
The therapist gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry for pushing. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with your roommate?”
A wary smile crosses my lips. The way she said the word roommate implied she’s giving me permission to talk about myself, but under the guise of these being someone else’s problems. But hey, it’s enough for me.
So I do want any coward would do. I tell her all about “my roommate’s” problems.
His life-long struggle with intimacy. His past of no-strings-attached encounters with women. And finally, him meeting this great girl who makes him imagine things he’s never imagined with anyone else, and the fears that come along with that.
When I’m done, I listen to every fucking piece of advice she lays out.
I have no idea if any of it will help, but it’s a start. And when I leave forty minutes later, I feel ten pounds lighter.16* * *PENELOPEOn a Friday night in Chicago, my neighborhood is the place to be.
It’s part of the reason I chose an apartment in this area, just above the chaos of downtown while still being nice and close to the lake. With all the trendy bars, cozy coffee shops, and some of the best restaurants on the north side, I live right in the epicenter of every twenty-something’s weekend plans.
Even November’s plummeting temperatures can’t keep away the swarms of people filtering in and out of bars for happy hour, toasting to the end of a long workweek. And on any other weekend, I’m usually among that crowd, a strong drink in one hand and a half-priced appetizer in the other. But tonight, none of that is on the agenda.
Actually, I have no idea what is on the agenda. What I do know is that when Wolfie texted me saying he had something to show me, I didn’t ask many questions for fear of scaring him off again. More than anything, I was relieved to hear from him at all, based on how we left things last week.
