Page 54 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
“It was still really fucking bad,” I say.
“You’re in Toronto with me now, rather than in Kingston. You know yourself better. You’ve been more stable in the past few years.”
Even though my episodes of severe depression happen once every five years, that doesn’t mean I’m completely healthy in between. I feel like my mental health is in a precarious position, like it’s something I’ll always have to treat with care. But it’s true that I’ve been reasonably healthy since I started my job at U of T two years ago. I’m better at taking care of myself now and have coping strategies I didn’t have before. Whenever I make a decision, I ask myself, “Is this good for my mental health?” When I’m in a particularly bad spot and struggle with suicidal thoughts, the question is closer to, “Will this kill me?” but the idea is the same.
The reason for my self-imposed ban on sex is because of my mental health. I get attached easily and cannot afford a repeat of what happened with Dane, yet another person who didn’t stick by me.
“I know you’re thinking about Dane,” Naomi says, “but the reason that hurt so much was because you’d been together for a year and a half, and he ditched you at the worst point in your life. Anyway, I’m not saying you should definitely sleep with Julian, but maybe let yourself have fun and see where it goes. You could end up like me and Will.”
“Julian’s already told me he doesn’t do relationships.”
“What are his reasons for that?”
“He works too hard. He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.” I blow out a breath. “It’s definitely tempting to go to bed with him, though. Just a little fun. I’m not sure it’s realistic to deny myself sex for the rest of my life.”
When I came up with my no-sex-for-Courtney plan more than three years ago, it was after a few sexual encounters—satisfying, but not mind-blowing—with a grad student in the history department. I started getting attached and he didn’t. I figured sex wasn’t worth the hassle. I could satisfy my own needs, couldn’t I?
For the past three years, that’s been enough for me.
But when I feel Julian on top of me, kissing his way down my neck, I know no toy could do what he’s capable of. The no-sex-for-Courtney rule no longer seems reasonable.
I miss sex. I miss physical intimacy. And Julian is right there, very willing.
“Well,Icouldn’t give up sex,” Naomi says. “But I’m not you. I understand why this is difficult for you.”
“Sex releases endorphins,” I say, thinking out loud. “Endorphins are good for you. They make you happy.”
This might be good for my mental health after all. Sure, there could be a few of those pesky feelings involved, but I suddenly feel like I can handle them. Besides, I won’t have too much time with him—less than two weeks. How attached could I get in two weeks? It’s nothing like Dane.
Naomi chuckles. “Sounds like you’ve talked yourself into it.”
I nod, happy with my decision. “I’m going to create some endorphins tonight.”
* * *
After finishing mygingerbread latte, I head home, and by “home,” I mean Julian’s penthouse. Weird how I’ve started thinking of it as home.
Julian isn’t in the living room or on the rooftop patio, and if he was going out, he would have told me. I check his bedroom. It’s the first time I’ve seen his bedroom, actually. His bed is enormous, and my heart rate speeds up as I imagine us rolling around in it together.
But he’s not in his bedroom, not now.
I glance at the doors leading to his washroom and closet, and it gives me an idea. I head to his closet, which is full of fancy business clothes, and select a pale blue dress shirt. I hang it up in my room before continuing my search for Julian.
I find him in his home office, reading a report.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, as though I’ve caught him doing something truly awful.
He looks at me sheepishly. “I ran out of things to do.”
I pull the report out of his hand and sit on his lap. “Do you want me to call your parents? Tell them you’re working on your week off? Or should I call Vince and ask him to drag you to a crack-filled sex dungeon?”
He chuckles as he wraps his arms around me, and then his lips are on mine.
“Mm,” he says. “I thinkyoushould punish me instead.”
“What should I do?”
“You’re the one doing the punishing. It’s your choice.”
