My brows shoot to my hairline. “You think that’s an easy question?”
She snorts. “It’s not? Jesus, how high is the number that you can’t count it?”
“It’s not hard because of the math involved,” I correct with a laugh. “It’s hard because that’s the kind of thing a man usually keeps close to the vest just in case the answer is something that might scare off the woman he’s currently talking to.”
“You can’t scare me,” she insists.
“Right.”
“You can’t.” She loops a finger over her chest in a crisscross. “I promise, I won’t hold it against you. We all have our pasts.”
I groan.
“Come on! I was practically a closet gangster!”
Goddamn, she’s so fucking cute.
“Fine,” I finally concede, somehow completely unable to not give in to everything she asks of me. “It’s somewhere in the neighborhood of…twenty.”
She chokes on her drink, and I have to pat her on the back violently as I shake my head. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
“No,” she denies. “Twenty is fine. Twenty is…well, it’s just two tens put together, you know? It’s just…twenty.”
I nod and bite my lip to fight my laughter. “I’m familiar with the number, obviously.”
“So…um…how does one go about sleeping with twenty women?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s pretty easy, I guess. I’ve had a couple of moderate-length relationships, but nothing that lasted years. If you consider the fact that I’ve been sexually active since I was sixteen, and I’m thirty-four now, that’s really only about one a year.”
Her eyes bug out. “You’ve been having sex since you were sixteen?”
“Yeah,” I answer with a laugh. “Why? When did you lose your virginity?”
She waves me off, her cheeks heating, and instantly, I’m mesmerized by the idea of watching that blush travel all the way down her chest and onto her breasts.
I try to shake off my thoughts and concentrate on her as she laughs. “We’re talking about you, not me. You already got a secret out of me.”
“And I only get one?”
“Tonight? Yes.”
“Fine.” I take a sip of my drink.
“So…twenty.”
I sigh. “Yes, twenty. Jesus. Now I feel like I need to go take a bath in some holy water or something. It’s not really that many, is it?”
“No,” she says comfortingly. “One a year is pretty reasonable, I guess.”
“Thank you.”
“So, who was your favorite?”
I spray my drink all over the bar, and she giggles.
“What the hell happened to one secret?”
“That was for me, not for you,” she doesn’t hesitate to respond. “You have to tell me as many secrets as I want.”
“Is that right?”
“Absolutely.”
“And why is that?” I ask.
“Because you said before you’re hoping to see me for a while.”
“That’s right,” I affirm.
“Well, the only way you’re going to keep me around is if you continue to tell me things to keep me interested. I’ve had a rough day, and you could be the one to help me turn it around.”
Me, be the one to turn this day around for her?
Well, hell. Count me all fucking in.
Raquel
I never would’ve thought a real-life version of Live PD could take place in my apartment, but I also never would’ve thought I’d be a woman who gets pregnant after having sex for the first time in her whole freaking life.
When my bodyguard opens the door to my apartment, the last thing I expect to find in front of it is Harrison Hughes.
Unfortunately for Harrison, my bodyguard seems just as surprised. I don’t even get a full second of eye contact before Freddie grabs him by the throat and spins him around to slam his back against the wall.
Oh, for the love of God!
I let out a scream—not helpful, I know, but it’s the only thing I can seem to manage under the circumstances—as Harrison’s hands shoot to his throat out of instinct, and the skin of his neck at the edge of Freddie’s hands looks red and distressed.
“Freddie! Fred! No!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and it shocks my bodyguard long enough to make his eyes meet mine. “Let him go! I know him!” When my wits finally outwrestle the freak-out in my head and the squeezing, violent suppression of life hasn’t ceased, I clarify. “Gah! You know him, Freddie! It’s Harrison!”
“Oh.” Instantly, Freddie Bones releases his hold, and as a result, Harrison’s feet once again find their home on the floor. “Sorry, bro.”
“It’s all good.” Harrison just chuckles and adjusts his shirt.
I step out into the hall and fret my teeth into my lip as Freddie steps back inside and shuts the door behind him, leaving Harrison and me alone. And we sit under a cloak of silence for nearly a full minute before I timidly force myself to speak my mind.
“I…I thought you’d gone back to New York.” It’s been nearly two weeks since he left me that note. And those two weeks felt like an eternity.