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“You’re obnoxious.”
“You married me.”
“Stop using that as an excuse.”
He stretches his legs toward the fire.
The sleeves of his thermal are pushed up, tattoos covering his forearms.
I sip my whiskey. Maybe too much whiskey.
Because the question that’s been bothering me for days suddenly comes out. “How many women have you slept with?”
Dane’s eyes lift.
Shit.
I look at my cards. “Never mind.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“You asked.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of my business.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Fake wife.”
His gaze stays on me. “You keep reminding yourself of that.”
“I keep reminding you.”
“Don’t need reminding.” Something about his tone makes my stomach tighten.
I put my cards down. “So?”
“So what?”
“Women.”
“There’ve been some.”
“That’s vague.”
“You want names?”
“No.”
“Numbers?”
My stomach does something unpleasant. “No.”
