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My hands stopped. I put my tablet down. “What did you say?”

His smile slipped. “I was joking.”

“About what?”

“The wine.”

“You said your wife doesn’t have to know everything.”

“Blair.”

“No. Explain the joke.”

He straightened. “It wasn’t that serious.”

My heart always pounded at every fucking sentence that started with my wife doesn’t know and ended with some woman being made a fool of.

“Don’t do that again.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Do what?”

“Flirt with me.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“You touched my back.”

“We were walking past each other.”

“You offered me alcohol after I said no.”

His expression changed. “You’re reading way too much into this.”

Maybe, maybe I was. That was the fucked-up part. My past had made me question my own instincts in both directions. Was I seeing something because it was there or because I expected it? Was I being cautious or paranoid? Was I protecting another woman or punishing every married man because of Caleb?

“Good.”

He frowned.

“If I’m reading it wrong, good.” I picked up my tablet. “Then we’re good.”

I walked toward the bedroom door and he caught my arm. My instincts took over and I snatched away so violently that my tablet hit the floor.

I stared at his hand. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Jesus Christ, Blair.”

He stepped back. “I was trying to stop you. I’m not trying to fuck you!”

I bent down and picked up my tablet. I was pissed because the corner of my screen was cracked.

Derek ran a hand over his face. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you think—”

“I don’t think anything.” I grabbed my measuring bag. “I know I’m leaving.”

“Over this?”

“Yes.”