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“I don’t know. You been through a lot of high stress stuff in your life?”
“Like what? Was I beaten as a child, is that what you’re asking?”
“No, Jesus, that’s not what I meant.”
“I’d done Krav Maga. That’s about it.”
“Nothing else?”
I was starting to get really edgy now. “Like what?”
He shrugged, went back to his steak. “I don’t know. Just making conversation.”
I kept quiet and went back to my steak, too.
“Do you lie a lot?” he asked.
I frowned. “What kind of a question is that?”
He shrugged. “My ex-wife used to lie all the time. Constantly, for no real reason, even about stupid shit. I don’t know, it was just a thought running through my head.”
“Oh.”
I tried to ignore the question, but he pressed me again. “So – do you lie a lot?”
“I’m about to: this steak’s the best I’ve had in my life.”
He grinned and flipped me the bird. “Fuck off.”
“My compliments to the chef,” I said snarkily.
“Hey, if you don’t like it – ” he said, getting up to take the plate away.
I grabbed onto the plate and huddled over it like a dog protecting its food. “I like it, I like it.”
He sat back down, chuckling. “No, I’m serious – do you lie often?”
I sat there looking at him. This conversation was seriously wigging me out.
“Lots.”
“Like what?”
“It’s big. It’s really big. The biggest I’ve ever had. No, honey, you’re the best I’ve ever had, too.”
He laughed out loud. “The cuts just keep getting deeper and deeper.”
“What made you think I was talking about you?” I said with a flirtatiousness I didn’t feel.
“Nothing at all. If you’ve ever had anything bigger, I don’t know how you’re still walking.”
That was kind of true. Although it pissed me off that he was so confident about it.
And right.
“My, aren’t we proud of our little pee-pee,” I said darkly.
“Nothin’ ‘little’ about it.”
