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Huffing out a breath, he looks away for a second and says, “I probably should.”
“How was the stag?”
“He was fucked up within two hours. It was a lot of fun.”
I bite my lip to stop myself asking a question that will make me sound like a jealous girlfriend.
“What did you do?” I ask, hoping he’ll randomly tell me he lived a celibate weekend.
He didn’t, and it shouldn’t bother me.
“Drinking, rock climbing, more drinking, jet skiing, drinking, strip clubs, drinking, and racetrack.”
“I really hope that wasn’t the order.”
“Give or take.”
“Strippers good?”
Off I set down that road.
His eyes are white hot. It’s still difficult to tell what he’s thinking, but I believe he enjoys that particular question. “The strippers were excellent.”
Donotask if he had a lap dance.
“That’s great. I’m meeting your mum this afternoon.”
“You moved seamlessly between strippers and my mother.”
“I’m not taking that bait. You should go shower the strippers off.”
“They dance. They’re not prostitutes, Ainsley.”
“You didn’t sleep with any prostitutes while you were away?”
There are alarms going off all over the place in my head, but still, I continue.
Casper tilts his head. “If the thought of me with a prostitute turns you on, sweetheart, you should get help. Or we can take a drive to a rough part of town.”
“Casper, the thought of you with anyone makes me want to hurl.”
“I believe that’s called jealously.”
I walked straight into that one.
I grit my teeth. “I believe it’s not.”
Absolutely shite comeback.
“Have you been okay?” he asks, letting me off far too easily.
“No, I’ve been pining for you,” I say sarcastically.
“You can see me for that, if you like. Bet still holds.”
“You want to pay me a million pounds for sex? I’m not going to be your prostitute.”
He laughs and leans back on his car, putting a fraction more space between us. “If I thought for one second that money would get you into my bed, we wouldn’t have been arguing for nearly three years.”
