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Wren shrugs with her back to me as she pushes the bacon back and forth in a skillet. “It means you hold things in too much. When was the last time you had a conversation with someone about things going on in your life?”
Before I can answer, she looks over her shoulder at me. “And I mean deeply personal situations that make you want to punch something in response.”
I chuckle deeply and shake my head. “You’ve got it all wrong, but I guess you get points for trying.”
“Right,” she mumbles. I can tell she’s not convinced with my answer, but she takes a deep breath and adds, “Anyway, back to the question. How often would you say you have sex?”
“Seriously? I prefer to eat my breakfast in silence.”
She sighs heavily. “Does my question make you uncomfortable? If so, I’m more than okay with changing the subject and getting off the topic. I’m here to make sure you are comfortable and in a safe environment.”
While she places more food on the large plate in front of me and then turns the burners off, I think long and hard about what she’s asking.
How often?
“Three to four times a week, sometimes once a day,” I mumble.
“Is it something you need to make you feel whole?” Wren asks.
I shrug and reach forward, putting food onto a smaller plate while she cleans her mess up around the stove. “I guess, yeah.”
“And why do you think that is? Could it be something that helps tame that anger?”
Her question has my spine straightening and I scowl at the food sitting in front of me because she’s getting somewhere when I didn’t want her to. Most of the time, when I have a one-night stand, it’s when I’m irritated or on the verge of a breakdown.
“Sure,” I mumble over the large bite in my mouth.
“I want you to write in a journal while I’m here,” she says, then walks into an adjoining room and comes back with a notebook in her hand. “Write all your feelings down, especially since you don’t have that sexual outlet you crave. Each week, during breakfast, we’ll go over what you’ve written and find better ways for you to cope.”
“Can’t you just email my manager and say I don’t need your services?”
“Not happening,” she says with a bright smile, then she claps once and slides onto the stool next to mine. “Now that we’ve got something important out of the way, what do you really love to do outside of the band?”
There’s an electric charge that vibrates between the two of us and I look down, noting our close proximity, then glance back up at her with an eyebrow raised. “Ever hear of personal space?”
Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink, and she scoots a few inches away, then clears her throat. “I apologize for that. Are you going to answer the question?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’ve already said I prefer to eat breakfast in silence, but it looks like I’m not getting that this morning.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Wren states with a frown. “We’ll table the conversation for another time, and I’ll let you enjoy your breakfast.”
“Great,” I mutter.
This is exactly what I wanted, yet I hate that she’s gone quiet now.
My phone vibrates incessantly on the island in front of me, and I lift the device with a small smile. “Guess my breakfast is gonna have to wait.”
Before she can manage to get me to ignore the call, I disappear around the corner and head into my home office with the phone still vibrating in my hand. “I really don’t want to hear from you right now.”
Brent sighs heavily into the line. “You know we only want the best for you, man. That’s all this is.”
“Sure,” I mumble. “How’s the replacement?”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Brent says, which automatically makes me think that the replacement is better than I am. Diverting the conversation is Brent’s way of not telling me.
“How is everything going with the wellness coach?”
“Great, we’re the best of friends.”
