Chapter 4
LEO
Vivian excused herself to use the restroom, and you better believe I watched her walk away. I haven’t had this much fun with a woman, without it involving sex, in a long time. I have plenty of female friends, and I thoroughly enjoy their company. But I’ve never experienced the thrill of flirting, the fun of light banter, and genuine laughter with someone I’m attracted to, without it leading to sex. I’m in uncharted waters.
I have attractive female friends too. One of my best friends is my colleague, Meredith, who is extraordinarily beautiful. She modeled in her teens and early twenties before coming out, and decided to pursue her passion for psychology. We work in the same therapy office: I specialize in couples therapy—go figure—and she focuses on substance abuse and trauma. Once, when she was single, I jokingly asked her how much money it would take for her to sleep with me, and she responded with, “One million dollars.” I was tempted to see if she’d follow through, but she later told me no amount of money would tempt her because she would rather not inflate my ego. That’s what I love about her. She’s brutally honest, hilarious, and fun. Plus, there’s never any sexual tension because she’s not interested in men, and now she’s married. It’s easy.
Vivian returns, sliding gracefully into her seat with a smile that could light up the entire room.
“Whose turn is it?” she asks .
“I believe it’s my turn.” Pondering, I rub my chin. “I’ve got to make it good—you’re getting low on cash, Walker.” Calling her by her last name doesn’t come naturally, but I force myself to do it to keep things platonic and friendly. I cannot sleep with this woman.
I glance at her, a crooked smile spreading across my face. I can’t believe I’m about to ask this. “What’s your favorite sex position?”
She scowls. “I’m not answering that.”
I lean back with a grin. “You’d better pay up.”
Reluctantly, she adds a fifty-dollar bill to the pile.
“You’ve got to step your game up, Walker.”
She rests her chin on her fist and purses her lips, furrowing her brows. She looks up for inspiration.
“Okay, I’ve got it.” She’s confident that she is going to stump me. “Why is an attractive man like yourself, who is infinitely charming, still single?” A satisfied smirk follows her question.
“Well, that’s easy. Because I choose to be. You'll have to do better than that if you want to win. I’m an open book.”
Frustrated, she glances at her dwindling pile of cash. “Ugh! You’re infuriating!” She puts a five into the pile. “Please explain.”
I contemplate how to explain without seeming like a total dick. “I choose to be single because I like being single. I like my space, my freedom, and my independence. I don’t want to get married, I don’t want to be in a relationship, and I don’t date… anyone. I have plenty of people in my life whom I care about and love, and I’ve never found it difficult to find a woman to satisfy my sexual needs, so I don’t need a relationship when it may ultimately fuck things up.” I study her face for a reaction. At first, I see disappointment, but after a few moments, a look of vindication crosses her face. She stares deep into my eyes, baring my soul.
“Ahhhh,” she says, amused, nodding her head insightfully. “So, even a therapist can be emotionally fucked up, just like the rest of us.” She looks as if she just won the fucking Nobel Prize. “Your turn,” she says with a sly smile.
If only she knew the half of it. My mind drifts briefly to my childhood, when two police officers stood at the front door talking to Dad .
I quickly refocus on the present. I’m stunned but determined to keep my A-game. “Wow. The guns are coming out. But I’m still winning.” I continue with the topic of sex, hoping she might give in this time. “When was the last time you had sex?” I’m ready to play hardball.
“Pass.” She puts her last fifty into the pile, only one twenty, one five, and four ones remain. I trump it by covering it with one of my tens.
“Trumped. You have to tell at least a half-truth, and you have to add your remaining five to the pile for giving a half-truth,” I declare, triumphantly.
“Fuck that. You’re totally making up rules.”
“The rules were clearly stated at the beginning of the game.”
She counters, “I think I should be able to keep the five if you’re trumping it.”
“No, that’s not how gambling works. If you want to stay in the game, you have to match the bet to continue. Otherwise, you fold and forfeit the game.”
“But if we were really gambling, then to trump my bet, you would have to match it with your fifty, since that’s what I used to pass.” Damn, she’s cute even when she argues.
“Fine.” I remove my ten and replace it with a fifty. “I’m willing to forfeit a pass if it means you answering this question.”
She hesitantly adds her last five to the growing pile in the middle. “A half-truth?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.
“A half-truth,” I solidify.
“I’m practically a born-again virgin.” She leans back, folding her arms.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I throw down a ten.
“It means, it’s been a while,” she says with a snarky retort, a playful glint in her eyes.
“C’mon, you could fuck any guy in this restaurant, and you’re telling me it’s been so long that you’re practically a born-again virgin?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t believe you. How long is a long time?”
“Oh, is that another question?” She gestures toward the ‘pot’ .
I slap my last ten-dollar bill down. “Lay it all out, Walker.”
She looks up, calculating how long it’s been, ticking off her fingers. “Nineteen months.” She sighs out a long breath.
Un-fucking-believable. I’m shocked. Vivian is gorgeous, funny, charismatic, and just down-right cool.
“That comes as quite a shock to me,” I say honestly.
“Yeah… it does for me too.”
I lower my voice, giving her a teasing look. “Are you saving yourself for marriage?”
“No. It just is what it is…” Vivian shifts her weight, giving me a pointed look, her voice becoming lighter. “Moving on! It’s my turn.” She goes easy on me. “What makes you tick?”
“Hmmm. What makes me tick? Probably people not being vulnerable or honest with themselves or others. How many tattoos do you have?” I know she has at least one, I can see it on her arm, but I want to know what else she might be hiding.
“I have three.”
I still have plenty of cash in my pile compared to hers. I put a five down. “What are they?” I ask, hoping the question is vague enough that she’ll answer with what they are and where they are.
“I have this one for Utah.” She points to a UT on the inside of her forearm. “A floral piece on my hip, and two butterflies on my left shoulder.”
I peek behind her to look at the tattoo on her shoulder. It’s two monarchs–one slightly smaller and flying just above the other. It’s bloody cool. Damn, I want to ask if it means anything but need to hold on to my remaining cash.
“I like it.” I cock a brow, giving her a mischievous grin. “Will you show me the one on your hip?” I know she won’t, but I can’t help myself. Just thinking about that part of her body turns me on.
A shy smile creeps onto her face. “Maybe some other time,” is all she says. She puts down her dollar, only two left. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.” I answer truthfully. “Yes, I’ve been in love. ”
She’s trying to figure me out, as I am with her.
We are both done with our food, and our drinks are almost empty. I have two one-dollar bills left, better make them count.
“Why did you move to Chicago?” I ask.
I can sense her hesitation, her smile faltering. She wants to pass but can’t, and if she half-truths, she’s close to losing.
She slowly exhales. “To move on,” she says finally.
Alright, I can work with that. I practically read people for a living, but I need a bit more to paint a clear picture. I put down my last five, leaving her vulnerable.
“Explain. Move on from what?” I know it’s invasive, but she can still half-truth or fold.
“If I place my twenty for a half-truth, do I lose?”
“I’d say you’re in until you’re forced to fold.”
While placing the twenty in the pile, the last remaining cash aside from two one-dollar bills, she scrunches her face. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Say the half-truth,” I offer.
“Okay… I guess I moved here to work through some stuff, you know, dealing with PTSD. You’re the therapist, piece it together.”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain my composure.
Whoa.
Shit .
PTSD.
That’s heavy.
I study her for a moment, noticing the way she’s fidgeting slightly and avoiding eye contact. People don’t just drop that casually unless it’s a coping mechanism. Defense. Deflection. I take a deep breath, feeling a mix of curiosity and concern.
She breathes and attempts to smile. “My turn again,” she says, without giving me a chance to respond.
Noah interrupts, removing the empty plates. “Do you want another round?”
I can definitely go another round, but she shakes her head. “No, just the check, please. ”
“Put hers on my tab, Noah.”
“You don’t need to do that. It’s not a date.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “I have genuinely enjoyed your company. Plus, I get a discount.”
“You got it, boss,” Noah says as he walks away.
“Wait,” she says, confused. “Boss?”
“Oh… right. Did I forget to mention that I co-own this place?”
She looks like she’s piecing something together in her mind.
“I guess, technically speaking, if one were looking for someone to”—I make air quotes—“‘ bang ’ for special treatment… it would be me.” I flash her a victorious grin and take one last swig of what’s left of my drink.
“Very clever, Boss ,” she says laughing, tapping her wine glass. Damn, she is witty, I’ll give her that. She puts a game on look on her face and proceeds.
“Alright, Mister”—she makes air quotes—“ I don’t date, just how many women have you slept with?” She thinks she’s got me.
Laughing, I reply, “Shit. The hell if I know.”
“That’s not an answer!”
Meeting her stare, I shrug. “A lot,” I say. “Too many to keep count, nor would I want to. Are we satisfied?”
“Not really,” she replies coolly.
“Are you jealous, Walker?”
“No, I’m not jealous. God!” She’s flustered and I find it extremely sexy. “I’m just trying to gather information about you, and you’re being vague.”
“Well, I can’t give you a number because I genuinely don’t know, but if you need a ballpark figure to satisfy this curiosity of yours, then I can say it’s definitely well into the hundreds. Which hundreds, though? That, I couldn’t tell you. Does that help?”
Her eyes go wide. “Yes, it does.” There’s no judgment on her face, thank God. Instead, she looks surprised, maybe even amused? I’m not sure.
“Alright,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “It’s my last question. Are you ready? I’m determined to win. ”
“I was born ready,” she says smugly, crossing her arms and legs. “Bring it.”
I place down my last one-dollar bill along with my last twenty and say, “You’re intelligent, witty, and fucking gorgeous . Why are you still single?”
She hesitates. “I appreciate you saying that. It’s really kind of you. Wow,” she breathes out, her eyes widening. “You don’t make it easy, do you?” She leans forward, unwavering, staring me down. Christ, her eyes are captivating.
I meet her gaze, searching those beautiful, rich green eyes with intensity. I’m struck by them. I don’t want to look away. They suddenly become misty; she blinks and breaks our gaze, looking away.
“I fold,” she says somberly, and kicks back the last third of her wine in one large gulp.
FUCK.
She shut down. I pushed her too hard. Scrambling for something to say to make it better, make a joke… anything, she straightens, rolls her shoulders back, and extends her hand for a handshake. “Nicely played. You drive a hard bargain… Boss ,” she says confidently, a sly half-smile creeping up one side of her mouth.
Impressed with her ability to gain composure, I take her hand, shaking it firmly. “You were a worthy opponent,” I reply with a grin. “I enjoyed every minute of it, love.”
“I did too,” she says sweetly. “Thank you for that. I haven’t laughed this much in a while. You’re a lot of fun, and… I’m really glad we ran into each other.”
“Me too. You were quite the surprise tonight. I didn’t expect to have this much fun with my neighbor.” I playfully elbow her. “My last neighbors were in their seventies, and while they were good for a friendly sidewalk chat, they didn’t quite bring the same excitement to the table. They also didn’t approve of me bringing strangers to and from the home.”
“Hold on.” She puts her hand up in a stop sign. They would say stuff to you about you bringing women home? ”
“Oh yeah, Gary would come over, knock on the door,”—I mime a knocking motion with my fist—“and he’d say”—I alter my voice to sound like him—“‘Brenda and I don’t appreciate you bringing strange women into the neighborhood. You’re putting us and our grandchildren in danger. You don’t know these women and what their true intentions are.’” I switch back to my normal voice. “Um… yeah, I do, mate. They just want a good shag.”
She laughs. “No. You’re not serious!”
“Dead serious.”
“Well, I guess I’m a big step-up in the neighbor department.”
I let my eyes slowly wander down her magnificent body and back up again, meeting hers with a charming and playful grin. “You most definitely are.”
She bites her bottom lip and then bursts out laughing. “God, you are such a flirt!” she says, giving my arm a playful shove. We laugh together for a few moments, and I take her in. She is stunning—the epitome of sex appeal. Her chocolate brown hair—similar to mine—just brushes her shoulders, drawing my eyes to her delicate frame. Her smooth olive skin has a summer tan, making me wonder if she has tan lines, and her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen: a deep, bright green. Her full lips draw my gaze, and I imagine what they would feel like against mine. And that smile, it’s contagious. She’s petite yet fit, with muscles and curves in all the right places. And her tits are fantastic. Our eyes meet, and I feel an electric current run through my veins. I shrug it off as just the attraction I have for her.
She raises her water glass, her wine glass now empty. “I think this calls for a toast, Boss .”
I pick up my glass. “And what are we toasting to?”
“To being friends.”
“Are we friends?”
“Are we not?” she asks, scowling. “Are you one of those men who believes that men and women can’t be friends because secretly one of them will want to be more than friends?”
“No, Walker, I’d say we’re officially friends. And while I can say I’ll never want to be more than that, I’ll always want to have a go with you,” I say, laughing out loud at her shocked reaction.
“Oh, come on, we’re all adults here. Let’s be honest with each other. I find you incredibly attractive, and I believe you feel the same about me. But you’re practically celibate, and I’m apparently a man-whore… We can’t be anything but friends,” I continue, raising my glass again. “So, cheers to being friends.”
She blushes and slowly raises her glass to meet mine, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Cheers,” she says coolly.
I notice the time as I glance at my watch, reluctantly realizing that the evening needs to be wrapped up. “Shit. I’ve got to go. It’s poker night with the guys. If you’re going home, I’d love to walk you?”
Not only do I want to spend more time with her, there’s a part of me that wants to make sure she gets home safe. It’s not just about being a gentleman; there’s something about her that makes me want to protect her. Maybe it’s the vulnerability I sense beneath her confident exterior.
“Yes, I’d like that. Don’t we still need the check?”
“Nah, Noah will write what I owe in a logbook.” I slap a one-hundred-dollar bill down on the counter and scoot it toward Noah.
Vivian stands up, watching me amusedly as I gather my winnings.
We leave Craft’s. Walking side by side toward Water Street, she looks at me, “So… who was the girl?”
I give a confused look, knowing exactly who she means.
“The woman, coming out of your house last weekend,” she says.
“Ah, that woman. Let’s see… her name was Chrissy. She had blonde hair, a great ass, and gave amazing head.”
“Oh God! Never mind, I don’t want to know!” she exclaims, shaking her head.
“What? It was my birthday! I went out for a celebratory night with my friends, met an attractive woman, and brought a birthday present home for myself,” I say laughing. “The real question, Walker, is why you don’t have men coming out of your house. ”
“Yeah, that conversation is not happening.” She pauses. “How old did you turn?”
“Thirty-five. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Hey,” I say, nudging her, “do you see that guy over there?” I point up ahead. “He’s glanced your way twice. Do you want me to snag him for you? Get you a good shag?”
She scoffs, “Okay, Leo, I get it. I need to get laid. I’m well aware. Let’s leave this topic here for at least a few days.” She’s firm, but not angry. We walk comfortably in silence as we approach the line of townhouses.
“I’m sorry,” I say as we near her townhouse, “if my questions were too invasive. I hope I didn’t offend; I just really like winning.” I flash her a smile.
“I’m not offended. You played fairly. My problems are my problems. The discomfort is… good for me, it forces me to grow.”
We stop at her door. “Spoken like a therapist,” I say, admiring her insight. “Could we swap numbers?” She nods and gives me her number. I send her a text that says Leo Weston aka Boss .
Smiling, she reaches for the handle. “I had a really great time, Leo. This was good for me. I’ll see you around?”
“Definitely. Friends, remember?” I say with a wink as I back away and turn toward my house.