Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Essentially, Dr. Winters is my only hope of getting clarity. I can’t leave here today without getting some advice.
“I…well, I kind of hooked up with someone. It was completely casual, he’s made that clear, but he left me his number and said to use it if I want to have more fun.”
When I don’t say anything else, Dr. Winters smiles understandingly and prompts me, “And…how does that make you feel?”
I scoff a little, slamming my back into the couch in physical defiance of what, deep down, I know is necessary prying. “Is that question somewhere in the therapy handbook?”
Dr. Winters is unfazed. “First day of class, actually.”
I roll my eyes, but I also laugh. At least my therapist is funny and doesn’t take herself too seriously. It’s probably why I was able to open up to her at all in the first place.
She’s the only one who knows the depths of my obsession with saying I do, and she’s one of only two people who know I’m in therapy at all. The only other person I’ve told is my elder sister Katelynn, and the reason I chose her to share with is obvious by the number of times she’s asked me about it—zero.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that she doesn’t care. She does. I know she does. But she’s got kids and a husband and a job and a yard to mow, and frankly, I don’t even think she gets all that much time to sleep, let alone ask me about my therapy sessions. Plus, last time she called me, I never called her back, and I don’t have the excuse of toddler terrorists running around. So, I guess it’s not all her fault.
Dr. Winters raises her eyebrows at me, clearly having noticed that I’d veered mentally into my own little version of a telenovela inside my head and waiting patiently for me to finish.
I guess patience comes pretty easily when you get paid by the hour, though.
I sigh heavily, knowing she’s not going to prompt me again but that she’s still waiting for my answer.
How in the world does Jude leaving his number for me on the bedside table and telling me to call him for a good time make me feel?
“Honestly?”
“You know how much I love honesty,” Dr. Winters jokes, but also adds, “Yes, Sophie, honesty would be good.”
“It makes me feel a little bit like a hooker.”
She smiles at that, taking her cute oval-shaped glasses off her nose and setting them on the table beside her chair. She leans forward, her elbows to her knees, and I prepare myself to listen.
After six months of coming here, I know that’s the position she takes when I’m about to get slapped with the truth.
“Okay, let’s break that down. Hookers get paid for a service, correct?”
I nod. I suppose.
“So, if you’re the hooker in this scenario, how is it that you see yourself getting paid? He’s not literally leaving money on your bedside, I’m assuming. Right?”
I shake my head. “No, no money.”
“So…what is it that he’s leaving you with, then? If you were going to call him, there’d have to be a reason. What’s the reason?”
I shrug. “I’m…attracted to him. Kind of a magnetic type of feeling, actually. And I do have fun when I’m around him. He’s not exactly wrong about that.”
“Good.”
“But it seems like such a waste of time. If he’s not going to be willing to commit to anything serious, why should I even bother?”
“From a therapist’s perspective, I could give you all manner of answers to that, Sophie. And I think you know that. But what’s your answer to it? If you think it’s such a waste, why are you even pondering it? Why are you holding what I presume is his number in your hand like it’s a thousand-dollar bill? Why are we talking about it? Those are the questions you have to explore first. Then, I think you’ll know the answer.”
I sigh. Truthfully, I’m pretty sure I already know—have known. Since the moment he put the number in my hand four days ago.
I can’t get him out of my head.
Friday, March 16th
Jude
“Yo, Jude! I got a bachelorette party coming in at midnight!” Maverick calls toward me from the opposite end of the staff hallway, and I turn on my heel to find him grinning like a confident bastard. “You feeling lucky tonight? Wanna make another bet and see if you can actually win this time?”
His words strike the match of memories, and unbidden visions flicker into my mind.
Sophie’s parted lips and her mouth cresting into unexpected pleasure as I danced against her in one of the private VIP rooms.
Hot-as-fuck visuals of her naked body beneath mine. The way she tastes. The way her skin flushes red when she’s getting close to climax.
The mesmerizing way Sophie looks when she comes.