Page 3 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

“I know you’ve had a lot taken from you,” she says, voice calm but warm. “And that sometimes, a promise—even a flimsy one—feels like something to cling to.”

I swallow. Look away. “It wasn’t just about him. It was about the idea. That there might still be a version of a future where I’m… enough.”

Pee-Pee nods. “You are.”

I roll my eyes again, but it’s weaker this time. “Don’t go full Hallmark on me, Phyllis. You’ll ruin your image.”

She smiles, just slightly. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Pee-Pee lets the silence settle, then lifts her pen again. “So,” she says, “tell me more about the other night. The foursome.”

“Nothing else to say, really. It was a disaster. Let’s move on,” I shrug.

She gives me the look. The I am patient, but you know I will outlast you look.

I sigh and drop my head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling as if the meaning of life might be written up there between the eggshell paint and a suspiciously flickering lightbulb.

Phyllis waits. She’s good at that—waiting me out until the silence gets too unbearable and I start talking just to fill it.

I try to fight it, but the weight of her stare is too much.

“Alright, fine,” I grumble, rubbing my hands over my face. “What do I want to take away from this? Maybe that I should stop making decisions purely because I think they’ll make me feel desired?”

She nods, encouraging. “That’s a start.”

I frown. “But also… I did think it would be fun. And maybe it should have been? But it wasn’t, and I don’t know why.”

Pee-Pee tilts her head slightly, her cardigan sleeves bunching at the wrists as she folds her hands in her lap. “Well, what did you really think would happen after a foursome?”

I open my mouth to answer quickly, but I hesitate. Because honestly? Yeah, I don’t think I can tell her about my MMMF fantasy right after she’s accused me of conjuring up imaginary futures.

“I suppose… a connection with someone,” I say slowly, testing the words as they come out of my mouth. “Excitement? Confidence? Like I’m a person who does fun, spontaneous things instead of just…”

I trail off, not really sure how to finish that sentence.

Pee-Pee watches me for a moment before gently prompting, “Instead of what?”

Instead of being alone.

The thought flashes through my brain so quickly I barely catch it before it disappears.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t know,” I say, avoiding her gaze. “Instead of just sitting at home watching telly, I suppose.”

“Hm,” she says. The worst possible thing.

I give her a wary look. “What’s that hm for?”

She taps her pen lightly against her notebook. “Ivy, would you say you’ve spent much time on your own since your divorce? ”

I blink. “What do you mean? Of course I have. I live alone.”

Pee-Pee smiles kindly, as if I’ve just confirmed something she already knew. “I meant emotionally. Have you given yourself time to be by yourself, without looking for the next person to fill that space?”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I’m not looking for someone to ‘fill a space.’”

She arches a brow.

I shift again. “I mean… okay, yes, I’ve dated a lot. But I like dating. It’s fun.”

“And when you’re not dating?” she asks, tilting her head again.

The room feels suddenly warmer, like I’m under a spotlight. “I… I don’t know.”

Phyllis hums again, scribbling something down.

I groan, slumping further into the chair. “Fine. Maybe I haven’t spent much time alone. But isn’t that normal? People like being with other people. It’s human nature.”

“Of course,” she agrees. “But there’s a difference between enjoying other people's company and needing it to avoid being with yourself.”

I open my mouth to protest, then snap it shut. Because I don’t have a counterargument.

I think about the past three years—about the string of dates, flings, and relationships that barely lasted long enough for me to learn their middle names. About the times I’ve thrown myself into something just because it was something, without stopping to ask if it was what I actually wanted.

And the worst part? I don’t know if I’ve ever really asked myself that. Instead, my brain hijacks the moment and fills it with fairytales and happily-ever-afters I didn’t ask for but secretly dream of.

Phyllis watches as the realisation sinks in. “I think,” she says gently, “that you’re still figuring out who you are on your own.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “So, what are you saying, I should just… stop dating? Go on some kind of romantic detox?”

Pee-Pee smiles. “I’m saying it might be worth exploring what life looks like when you’re not focused on the next relationship. What do you like? What excites you? Not in relation to someone else, but just for yourself?”

I blink. That is a horrifyingly big question.

“I mean… I like brunch?” I offer weakly.

Pee-Pee laughs, the first proper laugh of the session. “That’s a start.” She smiles at me, the kind of smile that therapists use when they know they’ve led you right into a trap of your own making.

“I think you need a break,” she says gently.

I squint at her. “From therapy?”

“From dating.”

I physically recoil. “What? No. Absolutely not. What am I supposed to do with all that free time?”

She gives me a patient look. “I don’t know, Ivy. That’s kind of the point.”

I cross my arms. “This feels extreme.”

Pee-Pee tilts her head, which is never a good sign for me. “Let’s look at the facts. You’ve been dating almost non-stop since your divorce—”

“Not non-stop,” I interrupt. “I had that two-week gap last summer when I went on holiday. ”

“Which, if I recall correctly, you described as ‘the worst fourteen days of your life because you had to eat alone and no one was there to take Instagram photos of you’?”

I open my mouth, then close it. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

She gives me a look.

I sigh. “Okay, fine, but what if I just… slow down? You know, only go on, like, one or two dates a month? A gentle, leisurely pace.”

“I think you need a proper reset.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re really going to make me go cold turkey?”

Pee-Pee smiles. “I’m not making you do anything. I’m simply suggesting that if you really want to figure out who you are outside of dating, you must take it off the table entirely.”

I groan and let my head fall back against the chair again.

“Three months,” she says.

I snap my head back up. “Three?”

She nods, entirely too calm about this nightmare of a suggestion. “No dating, no relationships, no flings—just time to focus on you. Tomorrow is the first of June, so let’s say until the first of September.”

I gape at her. “You do realise what you’re saying, right? Three whole months?” That’s a lot of days without a dick. I need to buy more batteries on the way home.

She nods again, completely unbothered by my horror. “I think it’ll be good for you.”

“Define ‘good’.”

“You’ll have space to figure out what you actually enjoy, what makes you happy when you’re not trying to impress someone, and what you want your life to look like outside of a relationship.”

I huff. “Sounds boring.”

She chuckles. “And yet, I think you know I’m right.”

Ugh. Of course she’s right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Alright,” I grumble. “Fine. Three months.”

Phyllis nods approvingly, like she just convinced me to save the world instead of banning me from my entire social life.

I squint at her. “What happens if I cheat?”

She shrugs. “You’re only cheating yourself.”

That is the most therapist answer I have ever heard in my life.

I groan and drag my hands down my face. “Three months,” I mutter again, as if saying it out loud will help me process the tragedy that has just befallen me.

“Until the first of September,” Pee-Pee confirms.

No dating. No flirting. No falling into yet another doomed situationship because I got bored on a Sunday afternoon.

I take a deep breath. “Fine. I’m in.”

“Good,” Phyllis says with a smile. “I’m looking forward to hearing what you do with all your extra time.”

I stare at her, horrified. “Oh my god, I’m going to have so much extra time.”

Pee-Pee laughs. “I think that’s exactly what you need.”

I groan again, standing up and grabbing my coat. “If I become one of those people who suddenly gets really into candle-making or hiking, it will be your fault.”

She grins. “I’ll take full responsibility. ”

I mutter something about emotional sabotage under my breath as I head for the door.

Three months.

That’s not that long, right?

… Right?