Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up before Ben. The sunlight cut through the curtains in soft streaks, but I was too wired to appreciate the calm of it. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and tiptoed out of bed, careful not to wake him. My pulse sped up as I opened the app and checked the account we’d made together. The post. The responses. What had felt like a wild idea the night before was suddenly very real, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Ben had joked about us waking up to a dozen messages. I’d laughed at him, but he was right—we had over two dozen. Most of them, predictably, were trash. Dick pics with zero context, guys calling me “baby” or “princess” or, grossly, “mommy.” One even wrote, “You ready for the ride of your life?” I didn’t bother opening it.

But two stood out. Two men who, somehow, didn’t feel like horny idiots tossing themselves into the void. I reread their messages a few times before waking Ben.

The first was Aaron. He was 30, tall, broad-shouldered, and clean-cut—a cop, if you could believe it. He wrote with confidence, but not arrogance, which I liked. He included a photo: light brown hair, cut short, piercing green eyes. He looked like the kind of guy who always gets the attention in a room. His stats made me swallow hard: 6’2”, 210 pounds, eight inches, thick, with what he called “enough stamina to wear you out.”

The second was Nathan. He was 26, leaner but still muscular—more of a runner’s build. He had dark blond hair, slightly wavy, and deep-set blue eyes that felt intense even in the photo. His message wasn’t as long, but it was direct: he’d had experience in these dynamics before, and he was discreet. His stats were close to Aaron’s: 6’1”, 195 pounds, seven and a half inches, but what really caught my attention was his confidence in going multiple rounds. He wrote, “If you’re looking to be fully satisfied, I promise I can deliver.”

My stomach twisted as I stared at their photos and words. It wasn’t nerves, exactly. It was something darker, deeper, more electric.

Ben stirred in bed behind me, his sleepy voice breaking the quiet. “You’re up early,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “We got some responses.”

He sat up instantly, suddenly wide awake. “Oh?”

I handed him the phone, sitting back on the bed to watch his face. He scrolled through, wincing at some of the more ridiculous ones, but when he got to Aaron and Nathan, his brow furrowed. He read slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked at their pictures.

“What do you think?” I asked, my voice low.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, his thumb hovering over Aaron’s photo. Finally, he sighed. “They seem ... legit.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “So, what do we do?”

Ben didn’t look at me, not yet. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then, almost too softly, he said, “We message them back.”

I sat cross-legged on the couch, my laptop perched on my knees while Ben sat beside me, clutching his phone like it might bite him. I could feel the tension rolling off him, but it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. If anything, I liked it.

Nathan was the first to respond, quick and direct. His tone was confident without being cocky, and the way he answered my questions made it clear he’d done this before. He even asked about our boundaries, something I hadn’t expected but appreciated more than I realized. “I’m here to make this good for you, not push anything you’re not ready for,” he wrote.

Aaron’s messages, when they came through, were slower—more deliberate. He asked questions about what I wanted, what I was looking for in this experience. His words carried an air of authority, and I could practically hear his deep voice in my head as I read them. “I’ll take care of everything,” he promised at one point, and that phrase lingered in my mind long after I moved on to the next message.

I couldn’t help but compare the two as the conversations went on. Nathan was playful, teasing in a way that made me smirk at my screen. Aaron was calm, collected, almost ... commanding. Two completely different energies, and I liked both more than I was willing to admit out loud.

Ben stayed quiet beside me, watching the screen when I let him but mostly just listening as I filled him in. He wasn’t much of a texter, and I think he liked that I was taking the lead. It gave him time to process, to imagine what this would actually look like in real life.

Finally, I set my laptop aside and leaned back, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I like them both,” I said, not bothering to soften it. “Enough to want to meet them.”

Ben turned to me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I think meeting them in person is the next step. Just a drink—nothing more. You’ll be there the whole time.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze falling to his hands. “Okay. If you’re ready for that, then ... I am too.”

We made the plans together, messaging each of them one last time to set up the meetings. Nathan was free tonight, and we agreed to meet at a sleek little bar downtown at 8 p.m. Aaron, who said he’d prefer a more laid-back atmosphere, suggested a quieter pub for tomorrow night, same time.

When everything was confirmed, I closed the laptop and stretched, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves humming under my skin. Ben was watching me, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything.

“What?” I asked, tilting my head at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but his voice wavered. “Just ... it’s happening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And we’re doing it together. That’s the part that matters.”

Later, as I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing my black dress down over my hips, I couldn’t stop thinking about what tonight might bring. Would Nathan look as good in person as he did in his photos? Would he be as confident, as sure of himself? Would Ben be okay watching me flirt with another man for the first time in our entire relationship?

I shook my head, forcing the questions aside. “Focus,” I muttered to myself, applying one last swipe of lipstick.

By the time we pulled up to the bar, my heart was pounding hard enough to make my chest ache. Ben parked the car and turned to me, his hand reaching for mine.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice steady despite the faint tremor in his fingers.

I squeezed his hand and smiled, ignoring the way my stomach twisted with anticipation. “Yeah,” I said, glancing at the glowing sign over the bar’s door. “Let’s do this.”

The bar was dimly lit, all dark wood and soft amber lights, the kind of place that felt intimate without trying too hard. As Ben and I walked in, my heels clicking against the floor, I scanned the room quickly. My heart kicked up a notch when I spotted Nathan at a table near the back.

He wasn’t what I expected—he was better.

Nathan had that kind of presence that made you notice him without him even trying. His hair was the first thing that caught my eye, dark blond and just a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it on purpose to keep it from being too neat. His sharp blue eyes locked on me the second I stepped through the door, a slow smile curving his lips as he stood to greet us.

He was taller than I’d imagined, at least 6’1”, but lean, with a build that made me think of a swimmer—broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist. He wore a fitted black button-down, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal strong forearms and a watch that glinted faintly in the low light. Dark jeans hugged his hips just right, the kind that looked casual but expensive.

His face was striking, angular but not harsh. A strong jawline, a straight nose, and a mouth that seemed to naturally settle into an easy smirk. There was a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, just enough to make him look effortlessly rugged. But it was his eyes that held me—bright, piercing, and unflinching as they swept over me, like he was sizing me up the way I was doing to him.

Ben cleared his throat beside me, and I realized I’d been staring. Nathan stepped forward, his movements smooth and confident, and extended a hand first to Ben.

“You must be Ben,” he said, his voice low and warm, the kind that made you lean in a little closer just to hear it.

Ben shook his hand, his grip firm but hesitant. “Yeah, that’s me. And this is Tiffany.”

Nathan turned to me, his smile widening slightly as he took my hand. His palm was warm, his grip just firm enough to make my pulse quicken.

“Tiffany,” he said, his tone lingering just a little too long on my name. “Even more stunning in person.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, but I smiled back, holding his gaze. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckled softly, motioning for us to sit. As we settled into the booth, Nathan leaned back against the leather seat, one arm draped casually over the backrest. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged here, like this wasn’t the least bit strange to him.

“So,” he said, his gaze flicking between us, “you two nervous?”

Ben let out a strained laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “A little,” he admitted.

Nathan’s smile softened. “That’s normal. But let me make one thing clear—I’m not here to push you into anything you’re not ready for. This is your night, your rules. My only job is to make you both comfortable.”

His words should’ve eased the tension, but instead, they sent a shiver down my spine. There was something about the way he said it—confident, like he meant every word—that made me want to trust him.

As the conversation began, Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his focus unwavering. He asked questions, thoughtful ones, about what we were looking for, what we wanted. He didn’t just talk to me—he made an effort to include Ben, to ease him into the dynamic.

But even as he spoke to Ben, I felt his eyes return to me, lingering just a second too long on the curve of my neck, the way my dress hugged my body. It wasn’t overt, wasn’t sleazy—it was calculated, deliberate, and it made my skin hum with awareness.

By the time we finished our first round of drinks, I wasn’t sure if I was more excited or terrified of what came next.

Nathan swirled his whiskey around in his glass, watching me with those unrelenting blue eyes. “So, let’s cut through the polite stuff,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “What made you decide to go for this? I’m curious.”

I glanced at Ben, who gave me a slight nod, like he was silently saying, Go ahead—your call. I took a deep breath and folded my hands on the table.

“It’s complicated,” I said carefully, though my voice held firm. “Ben and I have been together since college. We’ve got a great relationship, but ... sexually, it’s been hard to keep the spark alive.”

Nathan tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to Ben. “And you’re okay with this?”

Ben straightened a little, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. “I wouldn’t say it’s easy,” he admitted. “But yeah. I’m okay with it. I want her to be happy.”

Nathan smirked faintly, sitting back in his chair. “That’s a hell of a thing to say. Most men wouldn’t even get this far.”

Ben shrugged, and I could tell he was forcing himself to meet Nathan’s gaze. “Well, I guess I’m not most men.”

Nathan chuckled under his breath. “Fair enough.” He turned back to me, the intensity in his eyes ramping up a notch. “So, Tiffany ... is this about curiosity? Or frustration?”

The directness of the question made my stomach flip, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. “Both,” I said honestly. “I’ve only ever been with Ben, so yeah—I’m curious. But it’s more than that. I want to feel ... I don’t know... free, I guess. Like I don’t have to hold back.”

Nathan’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time, a crack of surprise flickered across his face. “You’ve only been with him?”

I nodded, the heat rising to my cheeks again. “Yep. Just him.”

“Well, shit.” He let out a low whistle and leaned forward again, clasping his hands together. “That’s new for me. Usually, the couples I meet are ... let’s say, a little more experienced in this kind of thing.”

“You mean we’re amateurs,” I said dryly, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Nathan laughed, the sound low and rough. “Hey, your word, not mine. But yeah, this is definitely different.” His gaze softened slightly as he added, “That’s not a bad thing, by the way. Just ... new.”

Ben cleared his throat, cutting into the moment. “So, how does this usually work for you? I mean, do you have, like ... rules? Guidelines?”

Nathan shrugged, his shoulders moving fluidly under his shirt. “It depends on the couple. Some want me to take charge completely. Others like a slower build, more boundaries. It’s all about communication.” He paused, then added with a sly grin, “And trust. That’s the big one. You’ve got to trust me.”

“Do you fuck a lot of married women?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and Nathan’s grin widened, amused.

“A few,” he admitted, taking a sip of his whiskey. “But not all marriages are the same. Some are just looking for a fling, some are on the rocks and trying to patch things up.” His eyes held mine, his voice dropping slightly. “Then there are the ones like you two—where it’s about something bigger than just sex.”

I felt Ben shift beside me, his knee brushing against mine under the table. I reached out and rested my hand on his, giving him a quick squeeze before turning back to Nathan.

“So what happens if it doesn’t work?” I asked. “If the chemistry isn’t there, or if one of us changes our mind?”

“Then it doesn’t work,” Nathan said simply, his tone easy. “No hard feelings, no pressure. Like I said, this is your thing. I’m just here to make it easier.”

Something about the way he said it made me relax—just a little. It wasn’t that he wasn’t intimidating—he was—but he carried himself with a kind of unshakable calm that made you want to believe him.

The conversation carried on for another hour, covering everything from expectations to boundaries to a few awkwardly direct questions from Ben that Nathan answered with surprising patience. But despite the ease of the exchange, there was a certain distance to it—a sense that, while Nathan was engaging, he wasn’t entirely invested yet.

As we stood to leave, Nathan slid his hands into his pockets and smiled faintly at me. “Well, this is definitely going to be interesting,” he said. “I’ve never worked with someone like you before. First-timers are a whole different game.”

I met his gaze, holding it steady even as my pulse raced. “Then I guess you’ll just have to see how it goes.”

Nathan’s grin widened, a glint of something almost predatory flashing in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As Ben and I stepped out into the cool night air, I glanced over at him, searching his face for any sign of regret. He looked thoughtful, maybe a little tense, but not defeated.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

He nodded, sliding his arm around my waist. “Yeah. It’s ... different. But I’m okay.”

I leaned into him, letting the silence between us settle as we walked toward the car. The night felt heavy with possibility, and I wasn’t sure if that was thrilling or terrifying. Maybe both.

Back at home, the tension from the evening slowly unraveled. Ben and I curled up on the couch, his arm draped around me, the TV humming quietly in the background. Neither of us was really paying attention to it.

Nathan had been ... good. Better than good, actually. He was smooth, confident, and respectful in a way that made me feel at ease. He asked all the right questions, gave all the right answers, and somehow managed to be both serious and playful without overstepping.

Ben seemed a little more relaxed by the end of it, too, which was a relief. I’d caught the way his jaw had tightened a few times during the conversation, especially when Nathan’s attention lingered on me a second too long. But he handled it. We both did.

Still, as much as I liked Nathan—and I did—I couldn’t shake the excitement bubbling in my chest about tomorrow. About Aaron.

I didn’t tell Ben, of course. I kept it buried deep, telling myself it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Nathan. He was the perfect warm-up, a solid first step into this strange, new world we were stepping into. But Aaron ... Aaron felt like something else.

That night, as I lay in bed with Ben’s arm slung over my waist, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. I thought about Aaron’s photo, the quiet authority in his words. The way he’d said he’d take care of everything. My stomach twisted, heat pooling low in my belly as I imagined what meeting him might feel like, what it might look like.

Relax, I told myself firmly, closing my eyes and forcing my thoughts to settle. This was about us—me and Ben. About exploring together. Nothing more, nothing less.

The next day passed in a blur of nervous energy. I tried to keep busy—cleaning, working, scrolling aimlessly through my phone—but the hours seemed to stretch endlessly. Ben seemed quieter than usual, like he was lost in his own thoughts, but when I asked if he was okay, he just nodded and said, “Yeah. Just thinking about tonight.”

By the time 8 p.m. rolled around, I was a bundle of nerves. My hands shook slightly as I put on my makeup, carefully lining my eyes and smoothing on a deep red lipstick that made me feel bold even if I didn’t entirely believe it. I chose a dark green dress that hugged my curves without being too obvious, pairing it with black heels that clicked satisfyingly against the floor as I walked.

Ben dressed simply, in dark jeans and a button-up, but he looked good. He always did, even if he didn’t see it.

The drive to the pub was quiet, the tension between us palpable. I stole a glance at Ben as he drove, his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.

“Hey,” I said softly, resting a hand on his arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

He glanced at me, his lips pressing into a thin line before he nodded. “Yeah. Just ... thinking about how this is going to go.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. “Aaron seems ... solid.”

Ben gave a small, tight smile. “Yeah. He does.”

The pub was cozy, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern bar from the night before. Warm yellow lights bathed the wooden tables and booths, the air filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the faint clink of glasses.

As we stepped through the door, my eyes immediately scanned the room, searching. My heart kicked up a notch when I spotted him. Aaron.

He was sitting at a corner booth, his broad shoulders and straight back making him stand out even in the relaxed atmosphere. He wore a dark navy sweater that stretched over his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms. His light brown hair was perfectly in place, his green eyes sharp as they lifted to meet mine.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stood, his presence commanding even before he said a word.

Beside me, Ben took a deep breath. I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently before letting go.

“Here we go,” I murmured, stepping forward, the sound of my heels muffled against the worn wooden floor.

Aaron rose to his full height as we approached, and I felt the air around him shift, thickening with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just that he was tall—though he was, easily 6’2”—or that his broad chest and strong build made him look like he spent his free time chopping wood or hauling something heavy for the fun of it. It was the way he carried himself. Confident but not cocky. Calm, but in a way that made you wonder how much he could take control if he wanted to.

He extended his hand to Ben first, gripping firmly but not aggressively. “Ben,” he said, his voice smooth and low, like the rumble of distant thunder. Then he turned to me, his green eyes locking on mine. “Tiffany.” He said my name like it was something he’d been holding in his mouth, savoring.

I took his hand, and the warmth of his palm made my breath hitch. His grip was firm, his skin rougher than I’d expected—like a man who’d worked with his hands, even if he didn’t anymore. Up close, he was even more striking. That sharp jawline, faintly dusted with stubble, the kind that made you want to reach out and run your fingers over it. His lips were full but set in a straight, no-nonsense line that softened only slightly when he smiled.

His sweater clung to his frame, hinting at the solid muscle underneath, and the way he stood—feet planted firmly, shoulders squared—radiated a kind of power that was impossible to ignore.

“Nice to finally meet you both,” he said, his voice steady, commanding. He gestured to the booth behind him. “Shall we?”

We slid into the booth, me on one side, Ben on the other, with Aaron taking the seat across from me. The table felt smaller with him sitting there, his broad frame filling the space in a way that made my pulse race.

A server appeared almost immediately, a young woman who flushed slightly under Aaron’s attention as he ordered a whiskey neat. Ben and I followed suit, ordering drinks quickly before turning back to Aaron.

“So,” he said, leaning back against the booth with a relaxed confidence that didn’t feel forced. “Let’s get into it. What brought you here tonight?”

It wasn’t an aggressive question—his tone was calm, almost conversational—but there was an edge to it that made my stomach tighten.

I glanced at Ben, who hesitated for just a moment before clearing his throat. “We’re looking to ... explore,” he said carefully. “This is new for us.”

Aaron nodded slowly, his green eyes flicking between us. “First time stepping outside the marriage?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered in my chest. “We’ve been together for a long time, and we trust each other completely. That’s why we’re here. To see if this ... dynamic ... is something that works for us.”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Trust is everything in this kind of thing,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Without it, none of this works. You both seem solid on that front, though. That’s good.”

The compliment, subtle as it was, made me sit up a little straighter. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at us—assessing but not judgmental—that made me want to impress him.

Ben leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped together on the table. “What about you?” he asked. “Why do you do this?”

Aaron’s gaze shifted to Ben, his expression unreadable. “I like the challenge,” he said simply. “Every couple is different. Different needs, different dynamics. It keeps things ... interesting.”

“And us?” I asked, surprising myself with the boldness of my own voice. “What do you think so far?”

Aaron’s green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. “I think you’re intriguing,” he said, his tone measured. “Both of you. I can see why this is a big step for you, but you’ve clearly thought it through. That’s more than most couples I meet.”

There was no flattery in his words, no attempt to butter us up. Just an honest, straightforward answer that made my stomach twist in a way that was equal parts nerves and excitement.

The server returned with our drinks, breaking the tension just enough for me to catch my breath. Aaron picked up his glass, the faint clink of the ice against the sides somehow deliberate, controlled.

“So,” he said, leaning forward slightly as he rested one arm on the table. “What’s the one thing you’re most nervous about?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, and I felt Ben stiffen slightly beside me. I glanced at him, waiting to see if he’d answer first, but his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on his drink.

I turned back to Aaron, meeting his steady gaze. “Losing control,” I said quietly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Aaron’s eyes darkened slightly, and for a split second, his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but didn’t. “Control’s a funny thing,” he said, his voice soft but no less commanding. “Most people don’t realize how much they’re holding on to it until they let it go.”

He leaned back again, taking a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving mine. “But that’s what I’m here for. To make sure you don’t regret it when you do.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine, and I swallowed hard, gripping my glass just a little tighter as the conversation moved forward, the air between us charged with unspoken possibilities.

Aaron set his drink down, the heavy glass making a deliberate thud on the table. His eyes moved between us, sharp and attentive, as if he were picking up on every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken word.

“Let’s get into it, then,” he said, his voice even but firm. “What’s your sexual dynamic like now? What do you like? What brought you here tonight, specifically?”

The question wasn’t blunt in a crude way—it was measured, almost clinical. But the weight of it made the air feel thicker, the noise of the pub fading into the background.

I hesitated, glancing at Ben, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His hand gripped his beer bottle a little tighter, his knuckles white against the dark glass.

“Well,” Ben started, his voice tight, “we’ve always had a good connection, you know? It’s not like we don’t love each other or anything.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression patient but expectant. “But?”

Ben’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and I could feel the tension radiating off him. Finally, I reached over, resting my hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” I said softly.

He let out a shaky breath, then nodded. “But ... I have a hard time keeping up with her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur.

Aaron tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to me. “Keeping up how?”

Ben cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “I ... I don’t last very long,” he said, his cheeks flushing red. “And it’s been ... frustrating. For both of us.”

Aaron didn’t flinch, didn’t react with even a flicker of judgment. He just nodded, his green eyes steady on Ben. “That’s more common than you’d think,” he said simply. “A lot of men deal with that.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s you,” Ben muttered, his fingers drumming anxiously against the table.

“It’s not just about lasting,” I cut in, my voice firmer than I expected. Both men turned to look at me, but I kept going, my words spilling out faster than I could think them through. “It’s ... more than that. I love him, and I know he loves me, but sometimes I feel like I’m holding back. Like there’s something I need that I’m not getting, and I don’t know how to fix it without ... this.”

Aaron’s gaze locked on me, sharp and unyielding, but there was no pity in his expression. Just an intense focus that made me feel both exposed and understood.

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want ... I want to feel satisfied,” I said finally, the word feeling heavier than I expected. “Completely. Like I don’t have to stop or adjust or ... or pretend.”

Aaron nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass as he considered my words. “And you think this is the way to get that?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think it’s worth trying.”

His eyes flicked back to Ben, who looked like he wanted to crawl under the table but was holding his ground anyway. “And you?” Aaron asked. “Why are you here?”

Ben hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the words. Finally, he let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Because I love her,” he said, his voice raw. “And I want her to have what she needs. Even if I can’t give it to her myself.”

Aaron leaned back in his seat, studying us both with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Finally, he picked up his drink, taking a slow sip before setting it down again.

“Well,” he said, his voice steady but with an edge of finality. “That’s honest. And honesty’s a damn good start.”

His words hung in the air, heavier than the whiskey in his glass, and I felt the weight of them settle into my chest. Honest. It was the only word for what we’d just laid bare, and for the first time that night, I felt like maybe we were exactly where we needed to be.

Aaron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His broad shoulders cast shadows over the dimly lit wood, and the way his fingers laced together drew my attention, steady and deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t filling the silence. He let it linger, let the weight of Ben’s words and my confession settle between us.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “Let me ask you something else. Tiffany—when you say you’re holding back, what do you mean? Is it physical? Mental? Emotional?”