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“Oh?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed deeply and closed my eyes while I mentally prepared for the very real possibility that she was about to walk out on me. “It’s about Dee.”
No, my heart protested, it’s about Mark.
One thing at a time, another part of my mind whispered.
Tell her everything.
“Dee?” Claire asked with a frown. “Tommen office Dee?”
“Yeah.” Licking my lips, I tried really fucking hard to think about my next choice of words, knowing that I couldn’t screw this up. “I, ah, I…”
“You what?” Claire teased, reaching up to pinch my nipple. “What’s got you tongue-tied, Gerard Gibson?”
Just fucking say it.
Be a man and tell her, dammit.
She deserves the truth!
“I was with her a few times,” I blurted out and then held my breath in trepidation.
But Claire didn’t react. Instead, she continued to smile up at me, waiting for the confession. Because she was too pure to consider something so fucking wrong. Jesus, Johnny was right. Saying it out loud sounded all wrong. It was icky. It made me feel dirty.
“Dee,” I repeated, when she didn’t get my drift or was just too sweet to comprehend the crap I’d gotten myself twisted up in. “I’ve been with her, Claire.”
“What do you mean?” she replied, confusion etched on her pretty face.
“I mean I’ve been with her,” I repeated, enunciating the word been in the hope that she didn’t make me go into detail. “In the past.”
“The past?”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly, feeling my heart rate rack up a dangerous volume of beats per second. “But nothing has happened since fifth year, and nothing has happened since we’ve been together.”
When she continued to stare at me, unblinking, I released a pained groan.
“Please say something, baby.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she replied, slowly pulling herself into a sitting position. “Because I don’t understand what you mean when you say you’ve been with the school’s receptionist.”
“Dee’s Catwoman, Claire.”
Now she got it.
Pain encompassed her features and I wanted to die.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, I didn’t, I swear. I’ve only been with you like that.”
“Then what…” Her voice trailed off and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “You’ve been intimate with her in other ways?”
“Yes.”
“In ways you’ve been intimate with me, or the ways I’ve been intimate with you?”
I knew what she was asking, and I fucking hated myself for the answer I had to give her. “It was all me. I was the one doing the touching…”
