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“Holy shit.” David exhaled and stared at the line of fridges on the far side of my basement wall. “You rob a liquor store? Host the prohibition?”

“No. I just like wine and beer, I guess.” My cheeks warmed and I walked toward the fridges. “Help yourself. I have something in here from almost everywhere in the world.”

“Dang.” His voice still held a large amount of awe. “Had I known about this months ago, I would have tried harder.”

He was teasing. The words still stung.

“Would it have made you honest?”

He looked at me, lost the humor, and stated, “No.”

I pressed my lips together and turned back to the fridges in front of us. Scanning them, I grinned when I saw a beer I hadn’t yet tried.

“Arrogant Bastard Ale?” David asked when he saw my selection.

“Seems appropriate.” I arched a brow, challenging him to deny it, but he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped toward me and lowered his voice. “I told you, Camden. No more lies between us. I won’t stand here and go back on that now.”

Before I could respond, he reached for his own beer, a German stout I’d had before and enjoyed. I didn’t tell him how good it was. Without waiting for him, I turned and headed back up the stairs, the thud of his footsteps following me close behind. After opening my beer, I left the bottle opener on the counter and made my way to my living room.

By the time he entered the room, I was curled in a protective ball at the edge of the couch, knees to my chest, wrapped in a blanket, beer held in both my hands. I hated confrontation. I hated being hurt even more. It had been so long since I’d experienced either that I was unsure if I should start asking questions or wait for him to begin explaining, but as the silence stretched, the tension thickened.