Rock My Body (Black Falcon #4) (16 page)

His face contorts with pain as he steps back from me. “You still think I’m a druggie, and yet you fuck me?” He turns away from me and locks his fingers behind his head. “So we’re done? Just like that? Got what you wanted and now you’re ready to bounce? You’re just like everybody else in my life. You used me.”

“Tyke.” I reach for him but quickly pull back, knowing that while it makes me a cruel bitch to hurt him like this, it’s the right thing to do.

For both of us.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The second he exhales, a look of clarity shines in his eyes. They meet mine. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, I won’t bother you again.”

My lower lip trembles as I pretend to be unfazed by his decision, lifting my chin defiantly. “I think it’s best for both of us to remain strictly professional and pretend that we never allowed things to—”

He holds up his hand, and his expression contorts once again. “Distance. I got it. Consider this afternoon forgotten.”

I hate that I’m hurting him, but I don’t know another way to end this before we get too deep and I allow my heart to be crushed. I promised myself I would never care for anyone again. I don’t want to ever feel the pain that comes when a person leaves you forever. But the way he’s looking at me...it’s almost too much to bear.

The door opens and we immediately step away from each other. The rest of the clients filter into the room, and I’m suddenly paranoid that they’ll be able to feel the tension in the between us.

Tyke walks over and takes the seat furthest from where I’m standing. He stretches his long legs out and then throws one arm over the back of the metal chair next to him.

He doesn’t look in my direction again.

“Wicked Game” – Stone Sour

As I sit here locked in a room full of people struggling with addictions, I know the point is to listen to their stories and find comfort in the fact that I’m not alone. The problem is, right now, I feel more alone than ever. Frannie’s words still ring in my head. I don’t know why I thought she was different; that I was special to her. It’s my own fault for reading into something that was never really there. She was right. We barely know each other.

I do my best not to look at her as she sits across from me and leads the group therapy session.

Now that I’ve tasted her, I don’t know if I can ever pretend that I haven’t. I get that this job means a lot to her, and that she wants to protect it, but doesn’t she care about hurting me?

“—and that’s when I knew I had a problem. I couldn’t get my life back on track when she turned me down for the prom.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at this idiot.

The only thing I know about this Arnold guy is that he’s never been able to get over his high school crush turning him down. He’s a fucking nut job. Who lingers for years on a woman turning them down? A woman he never had a shot at to begin with.

Next time I see Dr. Shepherd, I’m going to request not to come to any more of these sessions. What will listening to some crazy guy babble on do for me?

I shift my weight in my chair, catching the attention of Josie Sullivan. She smiles at me from the next chair over, biting her lip and motioning to the empty seat I’m resting my arm on. I shrug. Josie takes that as an invitation and slides over next to me. At first I think about moving my arm, not wanting to lead her on because I’m simply not interested, but then I glance across the room and catch Frannie’s perplexed expression. I know it’s a dick move, but I want to make her jealous. I want to show her that just because she doesn’t want me, doesn’t mean that someone else won’t.

Josie is an attractive woman. Fake, but attractive all the same. I’ve spoken to her in passing at the Grammys, but she was more interested in hitting on Noel. She’s a known fame-whore, and rumor has it she slept her way to her first record deal.

Josie’s brown eyes stare up at me, and she flashes her best flirty smile. “Thanks for the seat.”

As Arnold continues to prattle on about his most debilitating moments as a teenager, I lean into Josie’s ear and whisper, “You’re most welcome.”

My eyes flit in Frannie’s direction. I see the pain in her eyes as she focuses all her attention on Josie and me, and that’s when I know it’s not over between us, giving me all the motivation I need not to give up just yet.

I make it to Frannie’s office well before our scheduled appointment time. Last night while I lay awake in my bed, I did nothing but think of her. Making her jealous yesterday was fucked up on my part, but I was hurt and I couldn’t help but lash out.

I tried to convince myself to let her go, but I still want her. There’s no denying that. But it can’t just be me—I want her to want me back just as much. The file she has on me probably gives her the impression that I’m some womanizing man-whore who has no feelings, and I hate that. I don’t want her to write me off just because she thinks what we did in the woods meant nothing. I need to make her see that I meant what I said about our connection being strong, and that I feel that, for some reason, we are fated to be together.

I pull out another green guitar pick and write two simple words,
Miss you
, on the back, sticking it between the petals of the red rose I picked from the garden on my way here. I think about laying it on her desk, right in the open, to make sure she sees it, but decide it’s better for her to find it after I leave. I place the flower on her chair and then push it under her desk, hiding it from sight.

After I’m satisfied with the flower placement, I take a seat on the couch and wait for Frannie. Moments later she comes waltzing into the room, her dark hair pulled up, showing off her slender neck. The black fitted jacket and skirt she has on gives off an extra edge of professionalism that I know is a message to me. It doesn’t make her any less appealing, though.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her as she takes the seat across from me.

She crosses her legs and rests her tablet in her lap. “Tyke.”

There’s a warning in her voice, but that doesn’t slow me down. “It’s not okay for me to tell you that you look nice now?”

She shakes her head. “No. Professional, remember?”

I hold my hands up in surrender, not wanting to push her anymore. “I’ll be good.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and then once she’s satisfied that I’m telling her the truth, she slides her glasses onto her face. “Did you write anything down in your notebook?”

I open the notebook and stare down at the only song that came to mind last night. Besides humming the tune to “Ball Busting Bitch”, I also found myself singing another song. A song where the guy doesn’t want to fall in love, but the woman on his mind is the only one in the world who can save him. The pain in the lyrics hit me last night. The game Frannie and I are playing is totally wicked—one that can destroy us both. Desire has made us foolish and we’ve done something we wouldn’t normally do in order to sedate it.

I clear my throat. “I wrote down another song title.”

She tilts her head and asks in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, “What is it?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “‘Wicked Game.’”

She leans back in her chair. “Can we not make this session about you and me?”

My eyes widen. That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting. “You wanted me to write down songs that came to mind, and all I did last night was think of you.”

She pulls her glasses off her face. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m playing games with you. It was never my intention to lead you on. I take full responsibility for what happened, and I apologize to you for that. I promise it won’t happen again. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea? I know you want me, just like I want you.”

Her tough exterior cracks a bit as her eyes drift up to the ceiling. “Tyke, please,” she whispers. “Can we just focus on the reason you’re here?”

My entire body stiffens. “I’m pretty sure I’m cured. I’ve haven’t had benzodiazepines for nearly a week, and I’m perfectly fine.”

She frowns. “There’s no curing an addiction. Being here, detoxing away from temptations, is the easy part. Living with it—battling every single day—is where the real work begins, and sometimes—” She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. “Sometimes you fall off the wagon.”

I shake my head. “That’s not going to happen to me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she lectures.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do you say that? You can’t possibly know that I won’t be able to stay away from it. It’s not like you know what it’s like.”

She licks her lips like her mouth has suddenly gone dry. “Actually, I know
exactly
what it’s like to fight an addiction.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What could you possibly be addicted to? You’re perfect.”

“There’s something you should know about me.” Her blue eyes focus on me. “I struggle every day, and since you came into my life...” She pauses and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m a recovering sex addict.”

Her admission catches me off guard. “Sex addict?”

My mind spins, trying to get a handle on exactly what she’s just said.

Holy—fucking—shit.

“Are you fucking with me right now?” I ask, making sure this isn’t some sort of sick joke.

“I wish I was,” she whispers.

I scrub my hand down my face as the shock turns to anger. I think about us fucking in the woods yesterday, and how she immediately cut me off afterwards. “Is that’s why you blew me off? I’m your
relapse
?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She hesitates and then sighs. “Well, yes and no. What happened with us...it was more than just giving in to my baser urges. When you sang that song about me, it touched me, and I couldn’t help but give into the physical urge my body craved. I had no intention of beginning a relationship with you.”

Things begin to click. “Jesus. You’re just like all the other groupies who wanted to screw me.”

“No!” she shouts and then quickly covers her mouth and then whispers harshly, “It’s not like that.”

I want to believe her because God knows she wasn’t just some random fuck for me. The thought of what happened between us meaning nothing to her fucking hurts. For some reason, I allowed myself to become emotionally attached to Frannie, and I don’t know if it’s because she seems to understand me, or because I can’t shake the feeling I’m here to save her.

I pick at my leather cuff and wonder out loud, “Then tell me what it
is
like, Frannie. I need to know if I should give up on us or not.”

She runs her hand through her hair and looks away, but then turns back toward me with her chin pointed down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me how you feel. Tell me if I should fight to make you see that we can work,” I urge.

Her brow furrows with confusion. “Why would you still want me after I told you my secret? I’m a mess.”

The corner of my mouth pulls up into an understanding smile. “I’m the last person to judge you, don’t you think? It’s not like I don’t have my own sordid past. After all, it wasn’t clean living that landed me in rehab.”

That earns me a smile. “I suppose so. You are a rock star, after all. I’m sure you’ve done worse. You’ve probably been with thousands of women.”