He frowned. “I don’t know.”
She pulled herself together, back to the cool, collected ex-wife. The mask she was starting to get comfortable in. “I’m not going to be hurt, if that’s what you are looking for. I don’t have any claim to Evan. He’s kissed a lot of people.”
“That’s not why I told you.” Brent scooted forward on the couch, his right leg bouncing nervously. “He’ll tell you, too. He said that. He said he doesn’t keep secrets, and wouldn’t keep the kiss from you, because he wants to see you again.”
“He does?” Jess had to fight back a grin. She failed miserably when Brent gave her a pained look. “What? He’s hot. And I’ve had a long, long dry spell.”
“You don’t need to rub it in.”
“It was your choice that I had a dry spell,” she reminded him. “Why are you telling me? Are you jealous?”
“Damn straight I am.”
“Well you should know Evan isn’t really a one-person type of man, so if you’re going to be jealous that he wants to date me, know that’s pretty standard for him.”
“I’m not jealous of you, I’m jealous of him,” Brent muttered. He lifted his head and glared at her. “I know it makes me a hypocrite, because I left, but I’m not okay with the thought of you dating.”
“What the actual fuck?” She glared right back. “That’s a bullshit thing to say.”
“I know.”
“What kind of double standard type of patriarchal madness is that?”
“It’s not a double standard,” he said, his voice a heavy rasp in the silence. “I’m a monk, I swear.”
She was genuinely shocked. Blinking, she shook her head. “You haven’t dated anyone?”
“No!” The single word exploded out of him. “God, no. I’m a fucking mess. I’m not fit for basic human conversation, let alone trying to navigate more complicated shit like a relationship.”
Her heart crawled into her throat and took up residence as a nervous lump. “Hook-ups?”
He shook his head sharply. “Not looking for that.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Peace, I think.” He let his head hang down, stretching his neck to the left, then the right, before slowly lifting his gaze to find hers. “And answers. I knew—I know I’m attracted to men. But until I confronted Evan, it didn’t occur to me on any level that I wasn’t gay and lying to myself. When I got all—look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I got kinda possessive over you. Macho bullshit. And he asked me how I felt about you, if I still wanted you. Of course I do. So I’m not gay. I’m bisexual. Brand new information for Brent Doran, idiot, age thirty-five. That’s a fucking head trip, you know? And I don’t want to lie to you ever again, so I don’t want to sit here and say I’ve got the answers when I’m still full of questions.”
She rolled her neck, all of her muscles suddenly achey. “Do you want a cup of tea? I want to keep talking, but I need to stretch my limbs, too.”
“Sure.”
“Follow me into the kitchen.” She made sure to smile as she stood up.
He returned the tentative expression.
So she held out her hand. It wasn’t conscious. It just happened. One minute they were exchanging smiles, the next her fingers were reaching for his.
And when he took them, when he wrapped his hand around hers, her heart relaxed and that lump in her throat eased.
She led him into the kitchen, where she put on the kettle and grabbed two mugs and the teapot. “Black tea?”
“Yes. Please.”
They didn’t talk as they waited for the water to boil. Once the kettle whistled, she brewed the tea and busied herself with grabbing milk and the sugar bowl.
Brent watched her the whole time.
When she poured their cups, he doctored his up the way he liked it, then leaned back against the counter, his hands wrapped around the ceramic.
