She laughs lightly. “Does it matter?” She avoids my eyes again.
I shrug. “You know my entire history.”
She tilts her head. “You never asked before.”
“I never had a face to the nameless piece of shit before,” I say, turning into the parking queue.
“Patrick.” Her voice is quiet. “You’re better than that.”
We inch forward. I keep my gaze on her instead of the car in front of me. “Why are you avoiding the question? It was before me… right?”
Her guilty expression gives me my answer before she speaks.
“Right?”
She sits up straighter, flicking invisible lint from her dress. “It was before we wereexclusive,” she says carefully.
“So… after me.”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
“Lore-”
“Look,” she says, taking a deep breath, reaching for my hand. “We’re here. Can we not turn this into a thing? I love you. We’re together now.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I can actually table this until tonight.
Chapter Two
Lorelie
Everyone bursts into laughter as Harvey’s wife, Lauren, finishes her story about the mechanic who spent ten full minutes explaining the importance of engine oil to her.
It’s funny because Lauren is a lead engineer at one of the biggest motor companies in Austen. Her specialty? Engines.
“So I let him finish,” she says, waving a hand, “and then he ends the whole lecture by changing my oil. Free of charge, of course.”
The table erupts again. Even I can’t keep a straight face.
Zoey lifts her glass. “Careful. That’s how they get you, free services and imaginary charges for things like car rejuvenation.”
“What the fuck?” Harvey chokes, nearly spitting out his drink.
“Language,” Colter says, smiling into his napkin.
Harvey raises a hand in apology and glances at Milo, who is far too busy stuffing spaghetti into his mouth to care about anyone’s vocabulary.
I shift my eyes to Patrick.
He’s been quiet since the Brick incident. I know it meanshe’s still thinking about it.
I curse myself silently.
Why did I tell him? Why didn’t I just brush it off? It was years ago, before Patrick and I were evenus.And knowing him, knowing his streak of possessiveness, of course he’d take it badly.
And he doesn’t even know the worst part yet.
Eloise turns to me, cutting a piece of salmon. “How’s work, dear?”
