Page 73 of Counting On You

“No more drinks.” I shake my head and peer at the time. We’re skating toward our morning counseling sessions. If she continues like this, she’ll barely be able to walk, let alone make it through a session without falling asleep.

“Why?” She pouts. I peer at those luscious lips of hers and can’t shake off the image of them wrapped around my cock.

“You can barely sit straight,” I point out.

“Alright, Daddy.” She kicks off her shoes, then pulls up her legs, resting her chin on her knees. “I’m going to tell you something. But if I tell you, you need to promise me that you won’t judge. Not me. Not him. And not one single word about it in the future. When I’m done, I want you to fuck me because I really need to know how I rate.” She stretches out her leg and drapes it over mine. “Promise me.”

I brush my fingertips over her ankle, up to her knee, marveling at how soft her skin is.

“We’ll talk about your secrets later.” I rest my hand on her knee and inch a little closer. “I want to hear your story first.”

“What’s my story?” She lets out a laugh. “Um, let me see. I was born, grew up, the usual stuff. What’s really important is that I’m sick and tired of hearing about people getting engaged. I’m tired of being alone and fighting an uphill battle. I feel like I’m counting on something that may never happen. There’s just too much I want. I want a family, a home, kids. I want true love and someone who loves me. And Bruce?” Her body begins to shake slightly. “It all seems possible with him. We spent most of our first date talking about family, marriage, all the things I want.”

I cock my eyebrow. No guy ever does that—unless he wants to score. That he got the chance and didn’t take it is strange.

Her gaze meets mine. “He told me that he needs a woman who wants to take that step.”

“He told you that on your first date?”

“Yeah.” Nodding her head, she turns to stare out of the window, her eyes lost in the darkness. “I don’t know what happened. I thought we wanted the same things from life. But obviously, that’s not the case. Or maybe he just doesn’t want them with me, or why else would he insist that we keep our relationship a secret?”

I listen in silence as she goes on to explain how the restraining order happened, and why it’s limited all contact.

It’s a clear game of push and pull—as old as relationships—but the only thing that doesn’t make sense are his motivations.

For the life of me, I can’t imagine why Bruce would talk about marriage, unless he wants to sleep with her or he’s after her money— which she doesn’t seem to have a lot of.

The more she talks about him, the more I get the feeling that he’s using her. But how can I ask without hurting her feelings?

Eventually, I can’t bear it any longer. “Does he stand to inherit something if he marries?”

She stares at me blankly. “I don’t think so. He’s already rich.”

Okay, scratch that off the list.

It clearly still is a game to him.

My hands ball into fists. The knowledge is there, hidden somewhere at the back of my mind. I just can’t grasp it yet.

Vicky notices my reaction.

“You promised not to be angry, Kade.”

“I’m not angry. I’m pissed.” My tone is sharp, livid. “This guy’s a total asshole.” The statement shuts her up.

She turns back to the window, and her shoulders are slightly shaking. Her face is turned away from me, and for a moment I fear that she’s crying silently.

Maybe I’ve been too harsh.

“Don’t cry. Please. It’s not your fault he’s—” I break off as she turns to face me. That’s when I realize she’s laughing.

I frown.

Didn’t she hear what I just said about her beloved Bruce?

“Do you think this is funny?” I ask.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her entire body shaking now. “I know this is supposed to be a serious conversation, but I just can’t help myself.” She laughs, nearly falling into hysterics. “My whole life’s this big mess. It’s like I’m performing on a stage and any minute now someone’s going to pour a bucket of water over my head. So, can we get on with it and just have sex?”

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