Page 17 of Counting On You

It’s seriously not as bad as I thought.

The living room is dominated by a cream, leather couch that’s covered with pillows. There’s no TV, but a bookcase filled to the brim with classics adorns one of the walls, and there’s even a leather reading chair strategically placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the woods outside. I plop down to test it and sigh with delight as I realize this is going to be my favorite place. I know I’ll spend hours in this chair, immersed in a book, or maybe even daydreaming about a time when Bruce and I will have overcome all obstacles and finally be together.

Reluctantly, I eventually get up to inspect the rest of the apartment.

According to the brochure, the adjacent room is my bedroom—small, smelling of fresh linen and yet another flower arrangement. Walking along the hallway, I enter the kitchen, which is barely larger than a cupboard.

Out of curiosity, I open the fridge and find it stocked with fruit, flavored water, low-fat yogurt—all fresh produce and other healthy stuff, but nothing microwavable and no ready meals.

Too bad I can’t cook. However, I would definitely learn if it helped me get Bruce back.

I grab a bottle of flavored water and lean my head against the fridge, closing my eyes for a few seconds.

My heart pounds hard at the thought of Bruce.

What is he doing right now?

Does he regret the situation I’m in?

He went to great lengths to keep our relationship secret from his rich family when he could have given up on us and taken an easier path—go for someone his family would have approved of. That, in itself, is all the proof I need that Bruce’s feelings for me are indeed real.

He might not be a man of many words, but a woman’s gut feeling is never wrong.

You just have to look at a guy’s body language.

And facts. Like the fact that he invited me over, even after ending things with me, giving the excuse that he’s afraid of getting hurt. While I might not understand his motivations, I do believe his proclamation that someday we’ll have a future together.

As I return from the kitchen, I get confused in the hallway. There are so many doors, I can’t remember which one is my bedroom. I know I should be knocking and yet I find myself trying each handle.

All are locked.

I continue down the hallway and try the handle of the last one.

It’s unlocked. I push it open.

My heart drops.

A scream escapes my chest.

My feet are frozen to the spot.

This isn’t my bedroom.

The person standing before me doesn’t look female.

It’s a guy.

A hot guy with his pants gathered in a heap at his feet.

---