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I sighed. “Seriously? Can’t you take a hint?”
“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t proud that I’d done it.”
“Oh, no, did you have first time regrets?” Being a smart ass under pressure was a bad habit of mine, and usually, Jared just laughed off my remarks.
He was not laughing now. In fact, his expression was practically a glower.
“It wasn’t my first time, which you damn well know. Far from it. That blessed event belonged to Anna Nordway when I was fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” I couldn’t help widening my eyes. “Early bloomer.”
He shrugged. “It’s different for a guy.”
I shook my head. “Oh, Lord, please grant me the serenity not to knee him in his misogynistic balls. He’s already gotten some use out of them, so I could look at it as a public service.”
He surprised me by laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did. Next, you’ll say women should stay in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.”
His nostrils flared, and something stirred way down low in my belly. So low I wasn’t sure anything had ever gone on in that particular place before. “What about you?”
I was breathing way too fast. Did he mean… “What about me, what?”
“How old were you?”
Through the miracle of oxygen finally filtering through to my brain, I recovered enough to comprehend his question. But that didn’t mean I was going to miss a chance to razz him. “Gotta be a bit more specific there, Sheriff.”
“How old were you when you let a man touch you for the first time?”
My heartbeat tripped. “He wasn’t a man, definitely a boy, and I touched him first. As I tend to do.” I wetted my lips. “Seventeen.”
“Not that long ago for you.”
“Long enough. There have been a few in between. Surprisingly enough, you get better with practice.”
His jaw tightened. “How much practice?”
I wasn’t an expert on male-female relations, but even I could tell this conversation was veering into dangerous territory. Especially when our emotions were high, and he’d had a baby with someone else.
He’d kissed her.
Touched her.
Made love to some faceless woman I couldn’t help hating no matter how much I told myself I was better than that.
Tomorrow, I’d be better. Tonight, I’d be honest—with myself, at least, if not with him.
“I do believe that’s a conversation you aren’t getting out of me without a bottle of wine between us. And that’s not happening tonight.” Lightly, I gave his chest a shove.
He gave way without a fight, stepping out of the doorway so Sadie and I could pass into the hall.
I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed.
Scratch that—honest, remember? I was disappointed, because I was like a ball careening around the table before I sank into the corner pocket. Hurt and anger and confusion had made a crazy brew inside me, and I wasn’t above wondering what she had that I didn’t. Why he’d been so driven to have his baby’s mother when he’d never so much as looked at me.
But that was chemistry, right? And it was just my damn bad luck that mine for him pinged so hard I couldn’t see straight sometimes when he got nothing but a flatline in my direction.
No harm, no foul. He didn’t know. No one else did in the world. So, it’d just be my stupid little secret.
