“Club shit. I can’t talk about it,” he said evasively. “What happened that night? Before I came over?”
“Life shit. I can’t talk about it.”
“Ah, I see what you’re doing there. But club shit is not the same as life shit. Come on, Doc. No one escapes the life shit.”
I took a deep breath. “My mother paid the security guard at my condo building to feed her information about my life. Like, I was literally being spied on, and when I talked to her on the phone the night we were supposed to go out, she mentioned you.”
When he didn’t say anything, I met his gaze. “You’re not what she would call…suitable.”
“Damn right, I’m not suitable. Not for a broad like you.”
“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” I snapped. “That’s not even the point. The point is that she shouldn’t have known anything about my life except what I chose to share with her. And I share nothing with her for exactly this kind of reason. I talk about my job and the weather. I ask how my stepfather is doing. I make excuses about why I’m not flying home to Watch Hill for Christmas. Until now, we’ve both operated knowing this was how our relationship was always going to be. We lived within these parameters and mutually avoided discussing things on a deeper level. But now…”
“She changed it all by invading your privacy.” He sighed. “Damn.”
I nodded. “I just lost my cool. I wassoangry, Boxer. It became its own living, breathing monster, and I wanted to smash and break things. The only reason I stopped was because I ran out of dishes.” I sent him a wobbly smile.
He didn’t smile back.
“And then you came over and I just—”
“Needed not to think.”
“Yeah.”
“Did it work?” he asked.
“It did.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I sighed. “How can you say that?”
“Yeah, good. You were hurting; I put a stop to it. I’m glad I could do that for you.”
“Is it that black and white, Boxer?”
“Yeah, Doc. It is. You needed to release your anger by using someone. I was there.” He smiled. “Do you see me complaining?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend there’s nothing more to you than a good time. Not now. Not while we’re doing this and pulling off the Band-Aid.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice?” he asked.
“Okay.”
“The next time you want to let out all that aggression and anger, you let me know and I’ll take you to the shooting range.”
I blinked.
A smile crept across his lips.
“The shooting range?” I repeated.
“Yeah, Doc. The shooting range. It’ll give you a feeling of control you’ve never experienced before. Trust me.”