Page 70 of She’s Worth the Risk

My brows rise. “Trying something?”

She nods. “I like you a lot, and I think you feel the same.”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, and her lips lift in a grin that quickly fades.

“That’s good, but I can feel you holding back with me. I understand why when we’re in public,” she adds quickly, “but when it’s only you and me, I want you to feel comfortable letting go.”

I frown. She’s right, I have been holding back, but I wasn’t aware she’d noticed.

“Okay…” I say cautiously.

“Do you ever watch porn?” she asks. The question comes out of nowhere, and my frown deepens.

“No.”

“Never?”

My face heats. “I have in the past, but no, not generally.”

“Why?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t make a habit of indulging in stuff like that.” Though as I think about this, it occurs to me how many of my usual restraints have fallen away in recent weeks. How I’ve been drinking more, jacking off more, running classes more off-the-cuff.

Then there’s sleeping with an ex-student…

“Why?” she repeats.

I laugh uncomfortably. “What is this?”

She softens. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just want to know. How does it feel when you do watch porn? When you have in the past?”

“I…” I shift my weight. “I don’t know.”

“Does it turn you on?”

What kind of question is that? “Of course.”

“And what’s that like?” she presses. “Being that turned on?”

I consider this for a moment. If anyone else had asked me these questions, I’d tell them to fuck off, but I want to be honest with her. She’s never hidden herself from me.

“It feels…” I search for the right words. “Out of control. Too much.” It’s not until I’ve answered that I realize how often I’ve felt this way with Zinnia. From day one.

“Like Jackson Pollock,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s why you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” I counter. “His work… makes me uneasy.”

She nods. “Of course it does. Like you said, Pollock is chaos. It’s nothing like the Renaissance, with all its rules and conventions. It makes perfect sense why you prefer that.”

I laugh, fighting the smile tugging at my mouth. Of course she sees that for what it is. She sees everything. She sees the parts I try to hide.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

“What if it’s not too much?” she asks gently, touching my arm. “When you’re turned on, Nick, when you’re excited or passionate, what if it’s not too much? What if it’s just the right amount?”

I open and close my mouth, unsure how to answer. For so long I’ve worked to keep my passions, my impulses, my desires in check. They’ve felt… overwhelming. Dangerous. Threatening, almost.

But what if Zinnia’s right? I think about how she described Pollock’s work: intense emotional expression, safely contained. What if, with Zinnia, I could somehow contain my desires?