The Sex Surrogate (36 page)

No.
Not really.

Nothing
would ever be like that.

But
something could come in second place.

Something
could be almost the same.

And
I would just have to learn to feel like that was enough.

“Why
don't we consider going back to twice weekly, or at the very least,
weekly appointments for a while? Just until you are feeling better?”

“Sure,”
I said, giving her a very small, very false smile. But it was the
best I could muster. “That is probably a good idea.”

If
nothing else, it would appease Jake and Shay.

Seven
Days

I
would like to say something upbeat about moving on. About how it
aches and eases as
everything
heals. How it sounds quietly sad, yet hopeful... like hymns sung by a
solemn choir. But it sounds more like worlds falling apart. It feels
like walls being built stronger around your heart.

It
is all grit and determination. It was the small voice that screams
through the urge to curl up in bed all day and cry and tells you to
get up, get dressed, eat, go to work, get shit done. To not let it
swallow you up. To not let it become all there is to you.

So,
after a few days, I listened to it. I went through the motions. I did
what needed to get done. I had dinners with Jake or Shay or both of
them.

Then
I would get into bed, setting the alarm on my phone, and let it all
out for twenty minutes. Twenty. Not a second more. Then I got up and
wiped all the evidence of it away.

I
tried.

And
that was all that could be expected of me.

“Hmm,”
I said, sitting at my computer, looking at my bank account online.

“What?”
Shay asked, leaning over her leg to paint her toenails.

“My
money is still here.”

“What
money?”

“My
three thousand dollars for... my therapy.”

Shay
looked up, her brows drawn together. “That's weird. Call the
office. See if they messed up or something.”

I
nodded, taking a deep breath and picking up the phone, hoping I would
catch the receptionist before she left for the day. Because if it was
Chase...

“Dr.
Hudson's office,” the voice said, sounding a little frazzled.

“Hi,
this is Ava Davis. I have a question regarding a payment I made last
week.”

“Sure.
Davis, you said?”

“Yes.”

There
was the muffled sound of clicking, then a pause. “Ava?”

“Yes.”

“That
bill has been canceled.”

“Canceled?
Why?”

“It
doesn't say. Dr. Hunter is in with a patient right now, would you
like me to leave a note for him to get back to you?”

“No,”
I said quickly. “Thank you.”

“Have
a good night!”

I
hung up, staring down at my phone for a second.

“What
did they say?”

“That
the bill was canceled.”

“Canceled?”
she asked, putting her polish wand back in the bottle and screwing
it.

“Yeah.”

“Shiiiit,
girl,” she said, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Seriously?”
she asked, rolling her eyes. “You know what? I ain't even gonna
tell you,” she said, walking out into the living room. But I
knew where she was going. To Jake's room. She hadn't spent a night in
our room in days.

I
sighed, running a hand through my hair.

He
couldn't just... not accept payment.

That
was ridiculous.

He
offered a service. I used such service. He needed to be paid.

Before
I could talk myself out of it, I slipped into my shoes, grabbed my
wallet and keys, and left the apartment.

Then
went straight to the bank. If I was quick enough, I could get there
before the top of the hour. When he would be done with his patient. I
got my three thousand dollars, tucked discreetly into a plain white
money envelope, and made my way to the garage, parking, and hauling
ass to the front door.

My
heart was hammering in my chest as I tiptoed across the floor, as if
the sound of my flats could rouse the people behind a closed door. I
was trying my damndest to not think about where I was. About what had
taken place all around me. By the door. In his office. In the
bedroom. Every inch of the place felt etched with a memory.

I
reached out to put the envelope with his name down, and the door
burst open.

“Thank
you so much, Dr. Hudson,” a woman's voice said and my head
snapped over. And there was the blonde from the club. Different
outside of the tight dress and makeup, but still pretty. She was
looking over at Chase, whose eyes were focused on me.

“Ava?”

The
woman's face looked at me, then back at Chase, her eyes brightening
as a smile toyed with her lips. “I will see you next week,”
she said to him, giving me another quick glance as she made her way
to the door.

I
watched her dumbly for a few seconds, before shaking my head,
dropping the envelope, and starting to make my way to the door.

“What
is this?” Chase said, too quickly for me to claim I hadn't
heard him, I was barely a few feet away.

I
took a breath and turned. “That,” I said, my tone a
little sharp, “is your payment. Which was apparently and, I
assume... mistakenly, canceled.”

God,
why did he look so perfect? Literally. Head to toe male perfection.

Black
suit, white shirt. One button.

“You
were just going to leave three thousand dollars in cash on the
reception desk?”

“You
always seem to be... the last one out. I figured you would find it
first. But yeah. So, now you have it. And, I'm... I'm gonna go.”

“Ava,”
he said as I turned, making me freeze. My name always sounded way too
good on his lips. “It wasn't a mistake.”

I
turned slowly. “What?”

“It
wasn't a mistake. I am not billing you.”

That
made absolutely no sense.

None.

Unless...

No.
Nope. Not going there.

I
needed to keep those hopes and pipe dreams squashed.

“Why
not?”

Chase
sighed, running a hand down his face. “I need a drink,”
he said, turning and going in through his office.

And,
damn it, there was no fighting following him.

I
walked into the room, keeping my eyes on the sidebar and no where
else. I was
absolutely
not thinking about all the ways he had touched me on the couch and
the bed. Nope.

“Here,”
he said, handing me a martini I hadn't asked for.

He
threw back his scotch and put his glass down.

“Can
you come sit down with me for a minute?”

I
eyed the couch almost suspiciously, nodding. I chugged my drink and
followed him over, sitting down with a cushion between us.

“I'm
not billing you,” he said, watching me.

“You
said that. You haven't said why.”

“Fuck,”
he said, rubbing his brow. He looked up, about to say something, but
his eyes squinted, like he was really seeing me for the first time
since I walked in. “Have you been crying?”

Not
that day. Not yet.

But
there was no way to say no to that question.

“Chase,
answer my question.”

“Answer
mine.”

I
sighed. There was no arguing with him. “Not today,” I
said.

“Why
were you crying at all?”

“You
already had your question.”

“You're
impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “Ava... it would
be wrong to bill you for those sessions.”

“How
would it be wrong? You did what you were supposed to do.”

“Yes
and no.”

“How
no?”

“Because
I pushed the lines of professionalism.”

“What
because you like... went to my apartment? Or fed me?”

“Yes,
those things but...”

“But
what?”

He
gave me a smile, shaking his head. “Tell me why you were crying
first.”

No.

God
no.

Anything
but that.

I
hung my head, my hair falling forward like a curtain. “Chase...”

“Baby,
tell me...” he said, his hand landing on my thigh.

Maybe
it was the 'baby'. Or the hand on my thigh. Or his refusal to let me
pull back into myself... but I didn't want to lie.

“Do
you remember when I was drunk and you came over and I started
blabbering about Dr. Bowler?”

“Something
about something being fake. But maybe not. But maybe yes. You were
pretty wasted.”

I
sucked in a breath, looking at his hand on my knee. “Yeah.”

“What
was Dr. Bowler right and wrong about?”

Okay.
I could do it. Be a big girl and spit it out. I mean... what harm
could it do? I was already suffering.

“I
went to see her about my sessions with you...”

“That
was a good idea.”

“Yeah,
well. I went to see her because I was... having some issues.”

“With
our sessions?” he asked, his eyes looking almost sad. “Babe...
why didn't you tell me?”

“Because
I wasn't sure if what I was experiencing was what I thought it was.
Dr. Bowler... well, she confirmed it.”

“Confirmed
what?” he asked, his hand squeezing my knee harder.

“That
I had transference.”

There.

It
was out.

Sort
of.

Half
of it was out.

His
blue eyes flashed. “Transference. You thought you were having
transference?”

“Yeah,”
I said, swallowing. “But, um, it turns out I wasn't.”

“Baby...
what are you trying to say here?”

Okay.

Time
to spit it out.

“I
didn't have transference. I... I was in love with you.”

He
looked stricken.

His
eyes got wide, his mouth opened slightly, his hand stopped squeezing
my knee. He swallowed hard once, looking down for a second, before
his eyes found mine again. “Was?”

“Am,”
I said, shrugging.

“You're
in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“
Fuck
me,” he said, closing his eyes slightly. “
Fuck
me
...”

“Chase...”

He
needed to say something other than that. I couldn't even tell what
that meant. Was it surprise? Anger? What?

His
eyes opened slowly. “I couldn't bill you, baby... because this
wasn't therapy.”

“What?”
I asked, my brows drawing together.

“I
mean... we followed the schedule, but it wasn't therapy.”

“What
was it then?”