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"What was her name?" I push off the couch and move toward him. Slowly. Casually. Like wondering about this isn't tearing me apart.
"Why?"
"Making conversation." I pick up my drink and take a sip. My lips curl into a half smile. "This is apple juice."
"Is it?"
"Tease."
He shrugs.
"Did you like her?"
"She was nice."
"You're just like Em."
He arches a brow as he brings his drink to his lips. He tries to hold a poker face, but he doesn't quite manage it. His eyelids press together. A soft groan falls off his lips.
The man loves his whiskey.
But that's not where my head is going.
"Whenever she says a guy is nice, that's it. She's never seeing him again," I say.
"I liked her."
"But you didn't..." I clear my throat. But that doesn't get a reaction. "You're home early. Considering."
"Only takes half an hour to fuck someone properly."
"Oh." I stare back into his eyes. There's something missing. A satisfaction. He didn't sleep with her. I think.
"You should go to bed. It's late."
"I work later than this all the time."
"Still. School starts soon. You need to get into a routine." He takes another sip then sets his glass down on the table. "Your parents left another message. They want to hear from you."
"I know." I sip my apple juice. It's better than whiskey, but this much sugar this late is a bad idea. "I'm still pissed at them."
"You consider telling them that?"
Sort of. Telling people how I feel isn't my strong suit. "Did you sleep with her."
"That's not your—"
"I thought we agreed friends talk about sex."
His eyes trace my body. It's quick. Almost imperceptible. "What have you been doing all night?"
"Reading."
He nods sounds like you.
"That book you mentioned."
"And it's helping with your research?" He draws out the last word, like we both know this isn't for research.
