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Did I ask him that? Yes.
Was I expecting him to actuallyanswer? Absolutely not.
“Higher or lower?”
“What?” I say, again.
“Is six higher or lower than you were thinking, based on what you’ve heard about me?” His tone is even but there’s a flinty undertone, like he’s realized I was judging him earlier.
I’m honest. “Lower.”
His expression stays neutral as he nods, with the exception of a muscle that jumps in his jaw.
“Which is fine,” I tack on, wishing I could just rewind and not ask him anything related to other girls in the first place.
Absolutely none of my business, which I wish is what he’d told me instead of a concrete number.
Aidan snorts.
We’re only a block from my house now.
My steps quicken as soon as I spot the brown paint ahead. I’ve given up on talking him out of walking with me. Now I’m just trying to get this trip over with as quickly as possible.
“What about you?” he asks.
My stomach flips, guessing his meaning but playing dumb and walking faster. His longer legs keep up easily.
“What about me?”
“How many guys have you slept with since we hooked up?”
“Not really any of your business, is it?”
“No, it’s not. Who would ask such an invasive, personal question?” His sarcasm is so heavy I can feel it weighting the night air around us.
“Zero,” I mutter.
At least that answer shuts him up.
Temporarily.
“Because of your ex?” he asks.
“No. Because I just…haven’t.”
My personal policy of not having sex with strangers in hot tubs is more of a pattern of not having sex with strangers…ever. At the very least, I’ve known the guy’s last name.
Finally, we reach the edge of my front yard. “Night, Aidan,” I say, before heading for the house.
“Night, Rye,” he calls after me.
I glance back. “Ry? You gave me a nickname?”
“It’s not a nickname. Calling you ‘Land where Rye is grown’ is just too wordy.”
Knowing he memorized the definition I gave him is worse than him simply shortening my name. What happened to him being arrogant and self-absorbed?
“You really didn’t need to walk me home.”
