attention to me. “I’m intrigued by the photo you took, Eva. You were confronted with a situation that many women would find deeply upsetting—”
“There was no situation,” Gideon reiterated coldly.
“Her perception of a situation,” Dr. Petersen qualified.
“A patently ridiculous perception, considering the physical aspect of our relationship.”
“All right. Let’s talk about that. How many times a week do you have sex? On average.”
My face heated. I looked at Gideon, who returned my look with a smirk.
“Umm . . .” My lips twisted ruefully. “A lot.”
“Daily?” Dr. Petersen’s brows rose when I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, nodding. “Multiple times daily?”
Gideon stepped in, “On average.”
Laying his tablet flat on his lap, Dr. Petersen met Gideon’s gaze. “Is this level of sexual activity customary for you?”
“Nothing about my relationship with Eva is customary, Doctor.”
“What was the frequency of your sexual encounters prior to Eva?”
Gideon’s jaw tensed, and he glanced at me.
“It’s okay,” I told him, even as I conceded that I wouldn’t want to answer that question in front of him.
He reached his hand out, spanning the distance between us. I placed mine in his and appreciated the reassuring squeeze he gave me. “Twice a week,” he said tightly. “On average.”
The number of women quickly added up in my mind. My free hand fisted in my lap.
Dr. Petersen sat back. “Eva has brought up concerns of infidelity and lack of communication in your relationship. How often is sex used to resolve disagreements?”
Gideon’s brow arched. “Before you assume Eva’s suffering under the demands of my overactive libido, you should know that she initiates sex at least as often as I do. If one of us were going to have concerns about keeping up, it’d be me just by virtue of possessing male anatomy.”
Dr. Petersen looked at me for confirmation.
“Most interactions between us lead to sex,” I conceded, “including fights.”
“Before or after the conflict is considered resolved by both of you?”
I sighed. “Before.”
He dropped the stylus and started typing. I thought he might end up with a novel’s worth by the time all was said and done.
“Your relationship has been highly sexualized from the beginning?” he asked.
I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. “We’re very attracted to each other.”
“Obviously.” He glanced up and offered a kind smile. “However, I’d like to discuss the possibility of abstinence while we—”
“There is no possibility,” Gideon interjected. “That’s a nonstarter. I suggest we focus on what’s
not
working without eliminating one of the few things that is.”
“I’m not sure it
is
working, Gideon,” Dr. Petersen said evenly. “Not the way it should be.”
“Doctor.” Gideon set one ankle on the opposite knee and settled back, creating a picture of unyielding decisiveness. “The only way I’m keeping my hands off her is if I’m dead. Find another way to fix us.”
* * *
“I’m new to this therapy thing,” Gideon said later, after we’d gotten back into the Bentley and were heading home. “So I’m not sure. Was that the train wreck it felt like it was?”
“It could’ve gone better,” I said wearily, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. I was bone tired. Too tired to even think about catching the eight o’clock Krav Maga class. “I’d kill for a quick shower and my bed.”
“I have some things to take care of before I can call it a day.”
“That’s fine.” I yawned. “Why don’t we take the night off and see each other tomorrow?”
Thick silence greeted my suggestion. After a moment, it became so fraught with tension that I was motivated to lift both my head and my heavy eyelids to look at him.
His gaze was on my face, his lips thinned into a frustrated line. “You’re cutting me off.”
“No, I’m—”
“The hell you’re not! You’ve tried
Lucy Lambert
Peter Constantine Isaac Babel Nathalie Babel
Suzanne Kamata
Patricia Reilly Giff
James Sallis
Robert Whitlow
Michael Meyerhofer
David Almond
Caitlin Kittredge
Lindsay Paige, Mary Smith