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I walked over to Ali’s picture and pointed at her. “Who’s she?”
Silence.
I looked over at Jack.
His expression was… odd.
Hard to read.
He looked a little pained… but there was something else there.
Like he was hiding something.
“An old friend,” he said neutrally.
My heart skipped a beat.
From fear.
“What kind of an old friend?” I asked, forcing my voice to get jealous again. “An old girlfriend?”
Same inscrutable expression.
“No,” he said quietly. “Just a friend.”
I didn’t want to ask… but I had to know.
“Did you sleep with her?” I asked.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, angry.
My stomach knotted up.
“Well… did you?”
“NO, I didn’t sleep with her,” he spat. “But I fucked the rest of them. Do you want a list of their names and numbers? How many times we did it? Positions? How many times they came? Jesus fucking Christ.”
I closed my eyes because I didn’t want him to see what was going on inside me.
Part of it was relief. Ali hadn’t slept with him.
I cannot tell you how glad I was to hear that.
Part of it was… and I feel really strange admitting this, but… I was turned on by his anger. There was something animalistic there… some sort of elemental, raw male power that just did something to me, deep inside.
And the last of it was fear.
Because, for the first time, I could see how maybe it had happened.
How he might have killed her.
Out of anger.
Which I had just awakened, like kicking a sleeping bear.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The whispering part was an act. I was trying to sound sorry.
