“God, no. I just think…” I shrug. “Maybe a little fear is worth…her in return.”

It’s plainly obvious she’s trying not to smile. “She must be something.”

An image of her stepping onto the tram assails me, her long, dark hair blowing out behind her, sharp, intelligent eyes cataloguing everything in a one-second sweep. “Yes.”

“Have you told her about what happened in London?”

I scoff. “Why would I tell her that? It makes me look like a fool.”

“No. It makes the person who took advantage of you look foolish. Not the other way around. You have to forgive yourself, Tobias.”

I’m shaking my head like a baby who doesn’t want to eat his broccoli, so I stop.

“When you met this woman, did you play your part of the smarmy adult film star—”

“Fucking hell. Smarmy?”

“Or were you this man sitting before me? An honest, loveable person who might have a concerning naughty streak, but also has weaknesses and faults, like everyone else.”

Several seconds tick by while I consider this. “I was smarmy, of course.”

“Why?”

I throw up a hand and let it drop. “People enjoy the smarmy porn star.”

“The surface level people do.” She lets that sink in. “They’re entertained by it for a night, maybe two. Someone that might consider a deeper relationship with you might not take you as seriously, however.”

This is cutting a little too close to the bone. I’m not ready to admit how scared I am to let down my guard. To take off my mask. The last time I did that with someone, they betrayed me. Pulled the rug straight out from under my feet and the world hasn’t looked the same since. I’m going to work on this part of myself, but for now I’m more comfortable changing the subject.

Luckily, I have the ultimate card to play.

“Did I mention, she and I are part of a foursome?”

Dr. Bunton chokes on her sip of coffee.

Forty minutes later, I’m walking to the tram, my thumb smoothing over the screen that still holds Elise’s text message.

Elise: Gabe only changed one number, didn’t he?

Me: Afraid so. But I’m willing to let him think he outsmarted me if it makes you detest me a little less.

E: Hmm. Not worth it.

My bark of laughter carries down the street. This woman. I’ve got it fucking bad for her.

Me: I can think of something that would make you hate me a lot less, love, but it can’t be accomplished through the phone.

The message is done and sent before I can stop myself. I’m very aware that I’m falling back on my faithful routine of acting like a cad. It’s a defense mechanism. I’m not going to stop utilizing it overnight. Hell, maybe ever. What do I know?

E: Please. You’ve accomplished it many times through the phone, as you well know.

Me: It doesn’t come close to real life.

E: We need to change the subject.