Page 73 of The Biker and the Baker
She’s stunning. A beautiful bronze beauty with flawless skin and thick, luscious curves. Fancy heels, fancy dress, bold red lips, shiny jewelry. Who even dresses like this to sit in an office all day listening to addle-brained fuck-ups like me? Does she kick those high-heeled shoes off and unzip that tight dress as soon as we’re out of her office?
I’ve been seeing Kyor on and off for a few years now. She’s good, and probably not the best fit for me, but I stick with her, because after running through several therapists—thatshetried pawning me off to—she’s the only one I’ve ever been comfortable with. Maybe it’s because she’s on the younger side, closer to my age, so it feels like I’m talking to a friend, or one of my sisters. It makes me open up better, less inclined to mislead with half-truths.
She struggles with me—hence her failed attempts to push me off to others. Of course, she’s as arrogant as all therapists are so she’ll never admit to being stumped, but I know she doesn’t understand my issues and it bugs her. I’m the herpes of her clients—the one that refuses to go away.
Kyor isn’t able to make a diagnosis stick with me because my symptoms are erratic. For the most part, she believes I have a phobia of commitment. But I do the opposite of what commitment-phobes do in relationships; instead of avoiding commitment, I chase it, then bail when it’s time to throw the ball. According to Kyor, that makes me a “passive avoider.”
“They’re night and day,” I say in answer to her question.
“In what ways?”
“Cal was charming, fun, sexy, and privileged. Everything my eager young heart wanted. But he wassoemotionally needy.”
“And New Guy?”
Butterflies flutter around my heart. “He’s…mature, and serious, and certain. Don’t get me wrong, he’s fun, too. And yummy, and very alpha, while somehow still being gentle and patient,” I tell her. “But—but he’s likeEcclesiastes 3. You know, a time for everything. It’s not all fun and games all the time with him. He has real, serious conversations about the future. He knows exactly what he wantswithme andfromme. He…forces me to grow up.”
“Does the thought of ‘growing up’ scare you?”
“No.” But I’m fantastical, a believer in Unicorns and all that jazz.
“Is that why you’re still living in your parent’s basement at thirty?”
My tone is defensive when I reply, “I’msaving.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying,” she murmurs, then scribbles something in her notebook.What the hell is she writing? Stop scribbling, bitch! Whatever you’re writing in there is wrong.
As if she can hear my thoughts, she looks up from the notebook and lifts a brow at me. “Let’s go back to the last thought you had before you decided to leave Calvin.”
Twisting my lips to the side, I reluctantly go back to that time. “I thought, what the hell am I doing? I can’t get married at twenty-two. I’m still in culinary school. I haven’t even started my career yet. I’m about to end my life before it’s even begun,” I tell her. “I felt trapped by my ‘yes.’ I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
She nods, as if she understands this, and it makes me feel better, like less of an asshole. “What was the last thought you had before you decided to leave New Guy?”
“That he’severything. More than I could’ve ever imagined. And…” I dip my chin to the fringes of the pillow. “That I want to spend my life with him.”
“Those are twoverydifferent feelings, Pia...”
“I know.”
Again, she scribbles something in her notepad, then repeats her question. “Pia, what’s thelastthought you had before you left New Guy?”
Of course. I should’ve known better than to think I could skate under her. “I thought, ‘I don’t want to lose him.’ That I’d die if I fell any deeper in love with him and then have to live without him.”
“And why would you have to live without him?”
“Because he would leave me. Eventually.”
“Why do you think he would leave you.?”
“Becauseheleft me!”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Hedidn’t leave you, Pia. He was married, and your teacher. He left the school. He left the city. After being blackmailed.”
“He. Left. Me.”
“Okay,” she starts, uncrossing and crossing her legs again. “Let’s say he left his wife—and the other girl—to be with you. He’s all yours. Nothing keeping you apart. No wife, no rules. He’s one hundred percent available and wants to make things official with you. How would that make you feel?”
Oh, God,no. That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t have wanted him to leave his wife and… The mere idea makes me want to break out in hives. “Not like that. I just mean—”
