Page 17 of If It Can't Be Us

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 fuckanyguy 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.”

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