His voice is so raw as if he’s been mulling this over and it pains him to ask. What do I have to lose by being honest? Nothing. This man knows me. He sees me more clearly than most others I’ve known for most of my life. But only because he’s studied me as his opposition.
“Sexually, for me, it started like a college phase. I’d only slept with two other boyfriends before I met them.”
“You weren’t in college.”
“It’s an expression.”
“I know the expression,” he replies with an edge. But the look in his eyes isn’t condemnation. It’s curiosity.
“I know I’m not the first woman they shared, so don’t think relaying that will make a damn dent in me. And don’t be such a prude. Wasn’t it the French who coined the term ménage à trois?”
His eyes narrow to slits.
“Come on. I’ve been on the receiving end of you. I know you aren’t a saint.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why does it matter?”
He stares at me with expectancy.
“If you get this from me, I want something from you.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I lift my hand. “And it’s got to be good. A real confession.”
He smirks, his expression boyish, and I soak it in knowing all too well this is a side of him he rarely reveals. His guard is down, even if it’s drug-induced. “When I was twenty-one, I slept with every woman in the June edition of a French lingerie catalog.”
Maybe I didn’t need that confession.
His lips turn up at my reaction.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not jealous, I’m…”
“Judging?”
“No. But exactly how many girls was that?”
“It was a boutique.”
“You aren’t joking.”
He slowly shakes his head, and his lips press together like he’s trying to hide a threatening smile.
“How is that even possible?”
“I was bored.”
“You were…bored.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “But it was just the once.” His accent makes his comment almost comical. Almost.
“So, what, the other eleven calendar months didn’t appeal to you?”
“It was a college phase,” he supplies blandly.
“Well,” I clear my throat, “there you go.” I move to turn off the light, and he stops me.
“That answers nothing.”
Positioning my legs to sit crisscross style, I sit and scowl at him. “You really want to know?”