Page 29 of Counting On You

I don’t know why I keep wanting to wind her up, but it sure works.

“Well, I am most certainly not.” Her eyebrows raise an inch as she tilts her head. Her posture is rigid. I wonder what it would take to get her to relax. “You know you’ve asked me twice already? One more time and it’ll make you sound kind of creepy.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It was just a question. Someone told me something about a nun joining us.” That’s a little lie, one I want her to believe.

“Well, it’s not me.”

“Clearly,” I say. “So, if you’re not a nun, what is it that you do when you’re not in rehab?

There is a short pause before she replies, “I’m a nurse.”

My heart skips a beat.

I’ve never done a nurse. Or, have I? No, I don’t think so.

The realization hits me like a soft, relaxing breeze. Iknewthere was going to be some benefit to visiting this place.

“A nurse?” I can barely control the enthusiasm seeping into my tone.

“Yes.” She draws out the word.

“Cool.” I lean back, eyeing her. “Must be interesting to see lots of naked people.”

“I don’t, really. I work in a nursing home.” For the first time, I can see a hint of a smile on her face. “Bet that’s not your kind.”

“I don’t have a kind.”

“Right.” Her gaze moves away from me as she begins to play with something in her hand.

It’s a Darth Vader keychain.

“Nice accessory,” I say pointing to her hand. “Can I see it?”

She hesitates for a moment before she stretches out her hand, long enough to let me get a better look, but not close enough to let me touch it.

“It was a gift from my little brother,” she says almost apologetically and pulls back again.

“He has great taste.”

“He’s nine.”

She offers me a soft, almost apologetic smile. Her hand brushes over the length of her skirt. It’s impatience, I assume, but I can’t be sure.

She’s unlike any other woman I’ve met before—cagey, almost hostile.

Judging from her posture—all rigid, her gaze glued to the rug beneath our feet, her perfect teeth gently chewing on that full lower lip of hers—I can sense there’s something she wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it without sounding rude.

“What?” I prompt.

She looks up, and her eyes meet mine again. “Are you really a sex addict?”

“Why are you asking?” I cock my head to the side. “Is it because I asked you out? You know it was a joke, right? Something that people laugh about and don’t take seriously.”

“I know. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath and waves her hand, looking for words. “In spite of your obvious preference to run around naked, you don’t look like a sex addict to me.”

“You don’t look like a love addict, either, and yet here you are, stuck in this place with me.”

She nods her head. “Fair enough.”

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