Page 27 of Counting On You

The slightest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her luscious lips. “I’m just saying you should put in more effort if you’re sharing your apartment with someone. Wearing proper clothing is one of those things that doesn’t require much effort on anyone’s part.”

“What’s wrong with my robe?” I glance down, my hand brushing over the white fabric.

“It’s called having manners.”

“Are you implying that I don’t have any?” I wink. “Sweetheart, if you knew me, you wouldn’t make such a statement. This is a major trade up. I’m usually naked.”

“Naked?” She draws out the word. At the same time, her gaze is drawn to my lap. “Yes. I sleep naked, I cook naked, and I fuck naked, if you have to know.”

“Whoa. Hold your horses.” She holds up a hand to stop me from saying more and lets out another long breath. “Jeez. I knew you were a sex addict, but seriously, there’s no need to go into detail.”

I cringe at the way she emphasizes the last word. She makes it sound like I’m some kind of perverted fuck who fucks the entire day.

“I’m not a sex addict.” The words come out more defensive than intended. Fuck, I hate how weak it makes me sound. But more than that, I’m annoyed by the fact that she just managed to make me want to justify my actions.

I shouldn’t feel the need to explain my life, and yet in her presence the word “denial” springs to mind.

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” she says.

“Well, they’re wrong.”

Our gazes lock in a fierce battle.

She isn’t afraid of making eye contact, I notice.

She isn’t shy, either.

So, why doesn’t she want me to touch her in all the good places, like most women do?

“What do you want?” I slump down on the couch, still eyeing her.

“A chat.”

“About what?”

“About ground rules.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It won’t take long,” she adds as she catches my alarmed glance. “Now that it’s clear we’re expected to share this apartment, we need to discuss how—”

“The answer is no.” I jump to my feet again. “I didn’t come here to be told by a woman what I can or can’t do.”

“But—” She leans forward and her frown deepens. “—you haven’t heard me out yet.”

“True. But you see, I know what women want from me, and the answer is no. Are you done?” I make a point to take a step toward the door.

To be honest, I’m enjoying myself. I enjoy winding her up.

Her face distorts into anger, just as I expected. “That’s so sexist of you. You have no idea what I’ll ask of you.”

“Believe it or not, I do. You’ll want what all other women want.”

“Again, so sexist. But you’re wrong.”

No woman has ever called me a sexist. “What are you saying?”

“You got it all wrong,” she repeats.

I take a step toward her, my gaze buried in her blazing eyes. “Let me prove that I’m right. If I make a correct guess, I want you to go out with me.”

Shock crosses her features. I can see it in the way her eyes widen the moment her mind processes the meaning of my words. At last, she leans back, the shock replaced with surprise. “You want to go out with me?”

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