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"Are there that many that ya have to take a while to count?"
He swallows his beer and then pins his gaze on mine. In a calm voice, he states, "I've lost track."
I jerk my head backward. "You've lost track? There are so many that ya literally don't know?"
He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Aye, a lot of lads lose track. It's not a big deal."
"You're a male whore!" I exclaim, in shock. I knew he was experienced, but how do ya lose track?
His eyes widen. "I'm a whore?"
"Yea. Ya don't know how many women you've slept with! What else would ya be called?"
His face shadows with disapproval. "Sorry, princess. I'm not sure why you're making a big deal over this."
All my insecurities flood me. How could he ever be happy with me if he slept with so many people? And especially women like Debbie, who I'm sure know how to do things I don't. I scoff. "How can ya say it's not a big deal?"
He picks up a piece of fish, holds it close to my mouth, and changes the subject, ordering, "Try this. It's delicious."
I obey, unsure what else to do. Once again, it's so delicious that the taste bursts everywhere in my mouth.
We had incredible food at our rehearsal dinner and on our wedding night, but this is different. I've never had a meal like this before and wasn't sure what I would think about it, but I'm definitely a sushi lover.
He asks, "So how often do ya touch yourself and think about me?"
I elbow him in the rib cage.
"Ow," he bursts out.
"You're so full of yourself."
"I was just teasing." He leans his head close to mine. His lips twitch. "But have ya?"
I elbow him again.
He grunts and takes another sip of beer. "Okay, serious question."
"That wasn't one?" I ask.
"Nah. Ya already told me you'd never touched yourself before."
My embarrassment hits me again.
He holds a piece of fish near his mouth and questions, "What are your hobbies?" He pops the food past his lips.
I press my chopsticks on the plate against the food, gripping it, and admit, "I don't have money for hobbies."
He arches his eyebrows. "Ya have no hobbies?"
I think hard, then confess, "No. I went to work and I took care of my da. There wasn't time or money left for anything else."
"I don't believe that," he claims.
"Ya wouldn't. Ya know nothing about what it's like to live without money, and don't deny it," I declare.
He sighs. "Okay, I won't. But I'm not ashamed about what I have, lass. And now it's yours too, so ya shouldn't either. Being rich is better than being poor."
I point out, "How would ya know? You've never been poor."
