He nods. “We went to the same high school, started seeing each other a few months after we graduated. Her folks own the local bakery.”

“Were you guys in love?”

He shrugs. “I was such a different person then. Right after we got together I left school to start fishing with my family.” Seeming to consider the question more, he adds, “I loved her, sure.”

“Still?”

“Nah. She’s a sweet girl, though.”

I know the question will burst out of me whether or not I really want to appear this interested in the topic. “A sweet girl who still gets to sleep—”

“No,” he interrupts quietly. He looks back to me, his eyes making the slow circuit of my face. “Melody and I broke up five years ago; she’s married with a kid now.” At my expression, he murmurs, “There’s no one back home, Harlow. I promise.”

I swallow again, nodding.

“And if you remember,” he says, voice stronger now, “you were with another man one night before you were with me.”

Shit.

“Do you know how crazy that makes me feel?” he asks.

Honestly, I can’t even imagine. He broke up with Melody five years ago and I still sort of want to scratch her face off. This situation is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.

“I know there’s nothing between us, we’re just friends,” he says. “But it’s not because the sex wasn’t something really good, Harlow. Before you, in Vegas, it had been two years. I’ve been with four women other than you, and never in anything but a committed relationship, so this is weird for me. I’ll tell you anything, okay? Since I know how it is to feel desperate to know every detail, I’ll tell you. But ask me, don’t ask my friends. I’d rather we find things out from each other, okay?”

What is this mad flurry of emotions? I’m relieved and guilty, swooning and overcome with the need to kiss his perfect mouth.

With a shrug, I tell him, “I just didn’t want you to know that I wanted to know.”

He laughs, tilting his beer to his lips and saying, “Sociopath,” before taking a long drink.

“How many did you tie up?”

He swallows, and turns his eyes to me. I can tell with this question his pulse has exploded in his neck. I can see it throb with the rhythm. His voice comes out more hoarse than usual when he admits, “All of them.”

My blood turns to mercury, swirling and toxic. “All of them?”

“Yeah, Harlow. I... like it.” He ducks his head, touching the back of his neck as he looks at me through his eyelashes. “But I’m pretty sure most of them only did it because they wanted to be with me, not because it was their thing, too.”

“Did any of them like it?”

He nods. “My first, maybe?”