It does to me too. What the hell is wrong with Peter? I pegged him as a sleazeball from day one, but this is beyond the pale. If Dean and I had consented to attending, I wouldn’t blink twice at what’s going on beyond these walls—okay, maybe I’d blink once, depending on the scene. But we didn’t agree to this, which means Peter is a menace who must be stopped. My immediate priority, though, is to get us the hell out of here. “So we should just leave, right?”

“Right,” he says, raking his hands through his mussed hair. “‘When in doubt, get the fuck out’ is my mantra. I’m sorry, Solange.”

I raise a brow. “Sorry? What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“But you’re caught up in all of this because of me.”

“Dean, stop,” I say, jumping in front of him and halting his incessant pacing. “Look at me.”

He does the very opposite of that, his gaze bouncing from object to object in the space, until he lets out a harsh breath and finally returns my stare. Dean prefers to control his surroundings, so being thrust into an unexpected situation like this one must be unsettling.

I link our hands together and squeeze. “I take it from your reaction that you’ve never attended a sex party before?”

He snort-laughs, as if my question is ridiculous. “Uh, no. Never. Have you?”

“I have.”

His gaze snaps to mine, and his eyes go wide. “Really?”

I clear my throat. “Really. Nothing like this, though. It was a gathering among friends in grad school. All this to say, I’m fine. I’m not freaking out. Sex between consenting adults isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

“Of course,” he says, slipping his hands out of mine and tugging on his shirt collar.

“It took you by surprise. I get it.”

He blinks a few times, then puffs out his cheeks. Poor Dean. Going to a sex party was never in his life plan, I guess. After a moment, he takes a few steps back and sits on the edge of the claw-foot tub. “May I ask you a question about your experience?”

“Go ahead,” I say, joining him.

Is it odd that I’m comfortable talking with him about this? I’ve never mentioned that party to anyone, not even Brandon, and yet here I am, ready to share the details with Dean. Maybe it’s because I trust that he isn’t interested in my answers for his own titillation; he’s asking questions because he wants to understand.

He turns his head toward me. “Did you participate?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘participate.’ I was there, so, yes, I participated. But I didn’t have sex with anyone. I watched . . . and pleasured myself.”