“You can keep circling around the topic, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to forget,” she says. Laughing, she grabs the box and walks to the couch with it. She places it on the table between the couches and then walks over to the cabinet against the wall to grab the champagne glasses. “Now, I’m assuming there is a bottle of prosecco in the fridge?”

I shrug. “If there isn’t, someone will be fired.” She walks away laughing and comes back out with a bottle of prosecco and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice that I have delivered every other day. I take another bite of the flaky goodness while she pours us each a mimosa. She grabs a croissant and sits in front of me on the other couch. I curl my feet under me, getting comfortable. “I fucked Mark,” I say when I finish my last bite, and then I turn to look out the window at the sun shining in the sky to avoid looking at her.

“Mark who?” she asks, and I see her kicking off her shoes and curling her feet under her.

I take another sip of my drink, draining it and then fill my glass up again. “Mark Dimitris.”

I don’t have to look up to see the shock on her face as her gasp fills the room.

“But,” she starts to say and then stops. “I thought,” she stutters out. “I don’t …”

I finish the second glass and then look at her. “But how?”

I shake my head. “After four kids, you are asking me how? Matthew isn’t doing something right.”

“I know how.” She leans forward and puts her untouched drink down, and I grab it. “I’m asking how did it happen.”

“He invited me over for breakfast.” I take a big inhale. “I left after supper.”

“That’s …” She starts counting on her fingers.

“It was all day long. Six rounds, to be exact.” If I thought she was shocked before, her mouth hanging open now says everything. “Four almost back to back.”

“Is that even possible?” she asks me. “Did he take something?”

“All natural.” My answers are literally two to three words. I don’t give her anything extra even though I know she’s just waiting for more.

“You usually just dip and go,” she points out. “I mean, three is your max.” I shrug. “And then what happened between four and five?”

I shrug. “I napped,” I tell her, and she throws her head back and laughs her ass off, annoying me.

“You napped? Mrs. ‘I don’t sleep in anyone else’s bed but my own’?” She points her finger at me, mocking my words. “Mrs. ‘I fuck and leave, make them wanting more.’”

“Yeah, well, he wanted more,” I tell her. “So I gave him two more. He doesn’t like odd numbers.”