Page 23 of Choosing Hope

“So don’t drink,” I murmured, quietly enough that only she could hear me.

I purposefully hovered over her, standing closer than a stranger usually would, using my far greater height to dominate her, in the way I’d seen Carlo do.

“I can think of so many other ways of having fun, and none of them involve artificial stimulants,” I purred, bobbing my eyebrows to confirm I was being overtly flirtatious.

Her mouth hung open, and I stroked my index finger under her chin, gently closing her gaping lips. But not before considering how the space would look filled with my cock, which had jumped to life.

I drop my hand between us and extend it to her.

“Spencer Barton-Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you—”

“Sophie Jones,” she replied. Her voice soft, her eyes sparkling and I suspect it was the first time that day.

I couldn’t stop my smug grin.

“You’re growing more perfect by the second, Miss Jones.”

And that was it; I was hooked.

Chapter Five

Spencer

Dr. Klein watches me for a long moment. Not judging. Just...seeing me.

“That’s the first time you’ve smiled while talking about someone.”

She closes her notebook gently.

“It sounds like Sophie gave you permission to imagine a future—not just live in your past. That kind of shift matters.”

Shetilts her head.

“So, here’s my question, Spencer: when you think about love now, is it still about proving something to the people who didn’t see you? Or is it finally becoming something you want for yourself?”

I exhaled through my nose—a half-laugh.

“I’m not sure . . . both maybe.”

I shrug, but it’s not as dismissive as it sounds.

“I think for a long time, I was chasing what I never got. From my parents. From Chess. Even from Carlo, in a way. But Sophie...She didn’t ask me to prove anything. She just looked at me like I was already worth it.”

I pause. Then my voice softens.

“I think that scared me more than anything.”

She tilts her head as if listening out for a quiet note in a tune.

“It scared you? That seems a powerful sentiment.”

“I didn’t want to let her down, and yet that’s exactly what I’ve done.”

She sets her pen down on top of her notepad, the movement deliberate. Then she straightens, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze lingers, thoughtful but unflinching.

“And when Sophie came into your life...how did you explain Carlo? Was she invited into that part of your world—or kept just outside it?”

I stared down at her shoes, classic, black with a sturdy heel, just as I’d expect from her. Carlo always says a lady’s shoes can tell you a lot about the wearer’s personality. I smile at the thought. He’s right on this occasion.