Page 8 of Under Pressure

I had to get special certification to perform biofeedback working under a licensed supervisor, which Dr. Price agreed to be. It involved several online courses and watching someone already trained in it conduct actual patient sessions, which he set up for me with a colleague of his.

I just received notice that I passed the written certification exam I took last week, so I’m officially good to go now. I had spent so much time researching and reviewing information about biofeedback while designing the experiment that thankfully studying for the exam was a breeze.

And thank God, because today is the first day we meet with our participants. We’ll have different sets of people every Tuesday and Thursday, with twenty-minute sessions apiece for me to perform biofeedback over the course of two hours.

I walk into my apartment’s kitchen and reach down into the back of one of the cupboards to get my cupcake carrier and carefully place the cupcakes I frosted earlier inside.

They’re a peace offering for Tyler to start fresh. I regret my outburst in the library three weeks ago and since we’ll be working together for the next few months, I just want things to be pleasant. We haven’t met in person again, only emailed back and forth. While the tone of the emails is professional, I don’t know if it’ll be the same face to face.

I’m one cupcake short as I put the lid on. I eye Kelsey lounging on the couch, in shorts again with the heater cranked up. Her first class doesn’t start till noon, so she has time to watch the reality shows she loves. On the coffee table in front of her is an empty cupcake liner, crumbs littered all around it. Has she no shame? Especially after what she did to me the other week at the library? I swear I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

I blow out a breath, attempting to let go of the negativity, and grab my backpack and cupcake carrier to store in my car.

I have three classes before the study starts this afternoon and they each drag by, each tick of the clock a little voice whisperingalmost time, almost time. I normally find pleasure in my classes, but I’m too keyed up today to enjoy them.

But finally, it’s time as I walk into our assigned space, Room 304. Where I’ll be doing my own research study.

Ourown study, I amend, seeing that Tyler’s already here. He’s claimed one of the two desks on opposite sides of the small room, so I set my stuff on the other and glance over at him. He’s taken his coat off to reveal a tight black Henley, the muscles in his shoulders and arms defined through the shirt. Those amazing blue eyes are focused on a stack of papers in front of him he’s separating into groups.

Sigh. Why does he still have to look so good? Why couldn’t he have morphed into a troll over the past few weeks?

I clear my throat and open up the container I brought. “I made cupcakes.”

He looks up, his gaze penetrating. “Okay,” he finally says, returning his attention to the pile of papers.

That’s it?

“I, um, wanted to apologize about my outburst the last time we met.”

He glances up again, no hint of recognition on his face. “About what?”

“About what I said.”

“What did you say?”

Is he seriously going to make me repeat it? “The thing about the…” I pause, peeking behind me to make sure the door is closed. “Fuck buddies,” I whisper.

He grins, catching me off guard, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know. I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

I press my lips tightly together as he saunters over and grabs a cupcake, tearing off the liner and eating it whole in three bites.

Why did I even bother?

The papers he’s sorting turn out to be the informed consent forms the participants will sign and directions for them, depending on which group we’ve assigned them to. On Tuesdays, we’ll have the control group and exercise-only group that will meet with Tyler, and the biofeedback-only group that will meet with me. Thursdays will be the day we have the people assigned to both physical activity and biofeedback.

This week is just for going over the study with them, explaining what we’ll be doing, as well as what their job throughout the week will be regarding filling out the questionnaires we’ve devised and their assignments depending on which group they’re in.

As we meet with our participants at their assigned times on opposite sides of the room, I catch snippets every now and then of Tyler’s conversation, that beautifully deep voice so knowledgeable in its explanations and answers to their questions.

Ugh, Mia. Focus. Why does his voice still affect me like this? Why does my body find him so irresistibly attractive when all he’s been so far today is either aloof or rude?

I have to admit, that was a good trick he pulled making me repeat that, though.

After about an hour in, we each finish up with our people early and have some downtime before the next appointments.

He strolls over to my desk and looks down in the cupcake container, pointing toward it and raising his eyebrows.

“Are you asking if you can have another?”

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