“Anything to eat?” she asked, and though Rebecca felt her stomach rumble, she shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Just the drinks,” James said. As the bartender/waitress left, he slid a bowl of shelled peanuts toward Rebecca, which she ignored.

“Time to get down to business, so spill,” she said, folding her arms across the table. “You said you remembered, so tell me.”

He didn’t hesitate, which kind of surprised Rebecca, even as she told herself she welcomed it. He just launched in, explaining about the argument with Megan, how she’d come at him when she’d found out about Sophia. How hurt she’d been, how angry. She’d thrown a note she’d written at his face, then lunged at him.

The drinks had come, and he’d stopped to take a sip of his beer, but he’d only paused his tale while the bartender was there. As soon as she left, he picked up again, barely missing a beat. As he spoke, Rebecca searched his face for any trace of a lie. She tasted her drink, the foaming whipped cream sweet and at odds with the warm whiskey.

“I should have told her,” James wound up. “She was right. Before I got involved with Sophia, I should have told Megan it was over.” He leaned back against the booth. “That’s it. That’s what I know.”

She didn’t remind him that this was his MO, moving on to one woman before cutting it off with the previous one, didn’t say anything to jog his memory that he’d done the same to her.

Is that jealousy worming its way through your veins, heating your blood, poisoning your heart? God . . . please . . . no . . . not at this late date.

“Go on,” she said woodenly.

“That’s all. I just said—”

“That’s not all.”

James regarded her carefully. “Are we . . . talking about something else?”

“Megan.”

His gaze narrowed. Moments passed. Rebecca could almost hear the tick-tick-tick of elapsing time. She was pushing. Asking without asking. Angry. Needing to know, but unable to ask him, Why . . . Why? Why Megan?

James either read something on her face or picked up the vibe because he said, “I’m sorry.”

Jackass. Did he think that would be enough?

She tried to smile, but couldn’t force the muscles of her mouth to comply. “Call me crazy. I always thought there would be an explanation. Like . . . love grabbed you by the throat, and you were powerless against it. But then you cheated on her. Like you cheated on me with her.”

“She told me you were seeing someone else. A doctor.”

“What?” She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Megan said you were seeing someone else,” he repeated.

Liar! “That’s not true.”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh, God . . . You mean Michael Dent?” she demanded.

“I don’t know his name.”