Page 15 of Free Me

“Exactly.” I bite my lip. “You have no idea how jarring it is to look in a mirror and not see your true self. It’s… uncomfortable.” Understatement, much? I sigh. Telling him that won’t necessarily mean he understands it, but hopefully he accepts it. “Anyway, some days I wake up and feel definitely male and prefer he/him pronouns. Again, it’s not a choice. And for me, those days are rare. I might wear jeans or chinos and basic tops with Chuck Taylors or Vans. I still use a bit of light lip gloss and brow tamer. But most days, neither of those identities fit. I wake up, and I’m just Stef. I don’t feel male or female, and I use they/them pronouns, although they don’t feel completelyright. But neither does anything else the community has come up with, and it’s the most common default people use. On those days, my clothing choices tend to be whatever cute pieces jump out at me. I might wear a skirt, or I might just as easily throw on a pair of pants or shorts and some sort of top. It’s basically whatever clothing strikes my fancy. I’ll do my lips and brows, maybe add a bit of blush and concealer.” The entire time I’m talking, Blake doesn’t drop eye contact. He doesn’t flinch at what I’m telling him. He’s listening. He’s hearing what I’m saying. A few butterflies excitedly flit around my stomach.

“Okay. That seems pretty straightforward. I’m not saying I fully understand, butIdon’t have to. If it’s who you say you are, I can accept it.”

A few more butterflies join the others, and sweet baby Jesus, I could kiss him. “Are you sure? Really sure?” Too many people say they’re fine with it but aren’t. Or they think they’re okay with it until confronted with a situation that causes them embarrassment or conflict with friends or family. That one really sucks. Especially if it’s someone you’ve grown to care a lot about. “It’s alright if you’re not. I’d just rather you be up front about it. Being blindsided… well, it can hurt on many levels.”

Blake’s face clouds with concern. “Has someone gotten violent with you?”

“No, thank gods. I’ve been incredibly lucky that way. But violence isn’t uncommon in the community. It’s not even uncommonfromthe community. I’ve been sworn at, spit on, called every conceivable filthy and derogatory name you can imagine and a few I’ll bet you can’t. But no one has physically hurt me. Well, unless you count the spit. Bodily fluids can be scarily dangerous.” There’s no need to tell him I’ve been emotionally hurt. I’m sure he gets that.

I shake out my hands to get rid of the tension. It’s something Jules taught me, and it helps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things so heavy. We’re supposed to be here to help you relax, not discuss my life story. I don’t normally talk about any of this with clients, especially ones I don’t know incredibly well. But given ouruniquecircumstances, I wanted to be excessively up front with you. I wasn’t trying to trick you at the club, but I certainly won’t apologize for who I am. Given how we first met, the whole situation is awkward, so if you’d like me to go, I’ll understand.” He stares at me, not saying a thing, and I can’t read his expression. My stomach twists in a tight knot and I look away. “It’s alright. I’ll just get my bag and go.”

I start to stand, but Blake grabs my arm, stopping me. My eyes snap to his hand, then to his face, my stomach plummeting. He immediately lets go, holding his hands where I can see them. “I’m sorry. Shit. That was… I didn’t mean to be aggressive. Please don’t go. I… It’s a lot to process and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.” He drops his hands to his thighs. “I’ve been told I’m too blunt, and I’m trying to tread carefully.”

The knot in my stomach eases a bit. “I actually prefer people to be open and upfront. It makes things much easier.”

“Exactly. So, I’ll just come out and ask. How do I know what pronouns to use without being insulting or obtuse?”

The question catches me off-guard. There’s so much packed into that one sentence, and I pause to process it all. He accepts that I’m gender-fluid. At least cursorily. He probably gets only the fundamentals of what gender fluidity is, but it’s a start. And he wants to be respectful of that, and me, and he still wants to work together. The weight sitting on my chest eases, and I smile, absolutely relieved he didn’t turn out to be a jerk. I’d have hated that more than I care to admit because I like Blake. Even more now. “That’s easy. You just ask. I don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow. “Just ask. Like, ‘Hey Stef. Great to see you. What pronouns are you using today?’”

I try not to laugh with relief. “Yes. Just like that. I mean, for me, if you see me wearing an outfit like I was at the club, with full makeup and hair done, you can probably assume it’s a she/her kind of day. But just because I’m wearing a skirt or makeup doesn’t mean it’s a given. Clothing doesn’t have a gender. I adore how skirts and dresses feel on my body, and I love wearing them. And you willneversee me without some makeup, even if it’s just having my lips and brows done like today.” I lean in and press my hand to my heart. “Trust me. You don’t want to see these browsau naturale. Brow tamer is a must.” I laugh, and his easy grin makes me feel like I’ve won the lottery.

He rests his elbows on his knees. “What pronouns do I use for you today, Stef?”

Before I think better of it, I throw myself at him and hug him tightly. “Thank you. And today it’s they/them, please.” His arms slip around me, and for the briefest moment I relax against him. Then I force myself back from the delicious-smelling, incredibly sexy man who is officially my client. I need to at least pretend I know how to maintain some distance. “Wow, we’ve veered off track. I’m so sorry. We should get started with the session.”

We both stand up and take our positions in the space we used the last time. I run Blake through a few sun salutations to warm up, and use the time to refocus on why I’m here before moving on to some deep stretching. “Today we’ll start with a chest opening stretch. Stand tall with your feet shoulder-width apart. Interlace your fingers behind you and straighten your arms.” With my back to him, I demonstrate the exercise, then turn to make sure he’s doing it properly.

“Keep your chest lifted, and pull your shoulder blades down and back.” I step behind him, placing my hands on the front of his shoulders, gently guiding them into the proper position. I can smell his sweat mixing with his cologne. It would be easy from here to lean in and nuzzle the nape of his neck. Dear gods, working with him is going to be torture. “This will help with your breathing.” It’s certainlynothelping mine.

He turns his head, watching me from the corner of his eye. “This feels good.” His voice is deep and sensual, and a tingling starts at the base of my spine.

“You can even do this at your desk. It promotes proper posture and releases the tension through your chest, maximizing oxygen intake and circulation.” Thankfully, I could teach these poses on autopilot because my brain is on Blake overload.

He nods once. “And how long do I hold this?”

“At least thirty seconds.” I force out the words, sounding breathy and as bothered as I feel. Gods, I hope he doesn’t notice. “Relax into the stretch.” I count out another fifteen seconds and release his shoulders, though my fingertips linger a bit. He turns around and steps in. I can feel the heat from his body. His eyes dip to my mouth as he draws his fingertips along my jaw, and I swear I’m going to spontaneously combust.

I lean into his touch, and his eyes dart to mine, neither of us looking away. He moves in and I hold my breath, willing him to close the distance that separates our lips. But he drops his hand instead. “Sorry.”

Internally, I wail as the moment fizzles out, leaving me utterly frustrated. “Don’t be. Please. There’s a reason we connected in the club. There’s a reason things get so charged when you’re near me.” His eyes darken, and he tries to step closer, but I press my hand to his chest, pinning him in place. “Right now, you’re my client. And as long as that’s the case, we can’t cross that line.”

His intense gaze makes my pulse race and the butterflies swoop in my stomach. “And after?”

Oh my sweet tea, this man is dangerous. I cross my arms and smirk like he isn’t affecting me in ways I haven’t felt in… well, ever. “Do you mean after this eight-week de-stress-for-better-health program is over? I believe that’s what you agreed to.”

“Yes.” He closes the small gap between us again, and my pulse thunders in my chest. I adore having him this close, seeing his desire clearly on his face. But gods, he does things to me, fantastic things. I desperately want to give in because I want him to dootherthings to me. Things that involve less clothing. But, I cannot reach out and stroke the beautiful man’s chest. I most definitely cannot slip my arms around his neck and pull him into a heated kiss that would curl his toes. And we definitely can’t get naked.He is a client. I need to be strong and have impulse control.

“That’s exactly what I mean. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Not since that night at the club. Now that I know more about you, that one night isn’t enough.” He runs a knuckle along my jaw, and my knees turn to jelly.

His fingertip trails lightly across my cheek and along my lower lip. I should take a step away, but my body won’t cooperate. “One night with me rarely is.” It’s a lot less sassy and a lot more needy than I intend, but it earns me a chuckle, and that breaks the spell between us.

I back up and gather the tatters of my professionalism. “If you’re a good client and behave for the next eight weeks, we can revisit this then.” His eyes sparkle like he knows I’m struggling to resist. I can only hope he’s half as hot and bothered.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m paying for this program. I can fire you at any point.”

He’s smiling, so I know he’s not serious. But he’s not wrong. “You won’t, though. Mia will kick your butt if you do.”

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