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.”