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Is he high?
“What are you talking about? I never used you.”
“You did,” he says, “and I enjoyed how you used me.”
Thank God he’s kidding.
“We need to talk,” he says.
The four most dreaded words in the English language.
“Okay,” I say, already accepting the inevitable.
He places a hand on top of mine on my lap.
His warmth seeps right through me.
I have to hold back a moan.
“You must be wondering why I’ve been MIA?” he asks.
“I understand. You’ve been busy—”
“Stop bullshitting, Arianne. You and I both know it has nothing to do with work.”
I swallow hard.
I twist my fingers together. “Beckett, I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Thank you for finally being honest.”
“If you have something to say, just spit it out.”
Make it quick. Put me out of my misery.
I don’t know if I can handle the truth, but it beats staying in limbo.
“When I dropped you off at your place on Sunday, I wanted to come up and spend the night in your bed, but I chickened out.”
My eyes nearly bulge out of my skull.
“You did?”
“I did… and that’s the problem.”
“You lost me.”
“I don’t do sleepovers and I don’t do repeat performances with the same woman.”
“That last part makes it sound like we were part of a Vegas circus act.”
He laughs.
“Given the way we were going at it in all sorts of crazy positions, I’d say it qualifies.”
“Ha. Ha.”
His expression changes. All lightheartedness dissipates. “I tend not to sleep with the same woman more than once.”
