Page 3 of Counting On You

Every fiber of my body is heating up at the sight of his naked back. Bruce is tall and a bit skinny. This guy is built like a boxer: tall with broad shoulders and hard muscles in places I didn’t know existed.

As he turns to regard me, I notice the color of his eyes.

Deep brown and broody with long, dark lashes.

They’re the sort of eyes that make you feel like you’re the only woman in his world.

It’s a pity I didn’t get the chance to watch him finish the act earlier.

Why would I think something like that?

I can feel my cheeks burning. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my face has just turned a similar shade to our counselor’s hair color.

The guy steps in front of me, eyeing me with curiosity. He’s standing too close for comfort, sucking the oxygen right out of the air. “What makes you think this is your apartment?” His voice is low and nonchalant, as though we’re sitting in a café engaged in small talk about the weather. No sign of nervousness at all that he’s just exposed himself to a stranger.

“The form in my folder says so.”

“The form?” The corners of his lips twitch. “What does it say?”

“2B.” I scan the room again, suddenly uncertain. “What apartment is this?”

“2B.” He frowns, but for some reason I think I see amusement in his eyes. “Clearly a mistake.”

“No doubt.” I stare him down. “Why don’t you start packing up again? Because I’m pretty sure this is my place.”

“Is that so?” He crosses his arms over his imposing chest. I try not to stare at his bulging biceps, but it’s hard. “I’m not leaving.”

My anger flares. “This is my apartment. You’ve made a mistake.”

“I assure you I haven’t. I’ve been here since this morning. Even had a counselor stop by to ensure I was comfortable.” His lips twitch again. I don’t know why his statement sounds dirty, but this isn’t the time to probe.

My eyes widen and my legs begin to shake just a little bit. “Are you saying you’re staying here?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” He cocks his head to the side. “I assume you’re the love addict who’s going to be my roommate? My counselor told me a little bit about you.”

Love addict?

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

In all honesty, what could I possibly reply?

The fact that he’s just called me a love addict is too much.

Turning around, I bolt down the hallway as quickly as I can, then grab my luggage and head for the elevator.

It has to be a mistake.

It has to be a fatal mistake. There’s no way anyone would shack me up with a guy.

Ican’tlive with a guy, not even for therapy purposes.

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