“You don’t agree?”
“No,” he said, opening his eyes to pin her like a bug to corkboard with his dark, marauding stare. “I absolutely agree.”
A fat sense of vindication filled her, stretching her skin. She hadn’t been crazy. She hadn’t been imagining things. What she was feeling wasn’t one-sided. “So I ask again, what’s the problem?”
He blew out a breath, glancing over at Rick. Then he made an impatient sound and motioned for her to follow him around to the back of the lighthouse. She picked her way over the ground and settled into the shadow of the small structure.
“So the problem,” he said “is there’s this mutual like and this mutual lust and…well…never the two shall meet.”
Her chin jerked back. “In what world? Because inthisworld you pretty much described what happens at the beginnin’ of a beautiful relation—”
“Inmyworld,” he interrupted.
Frustration simmered inside her. “You’re goin’ to need to explain yourself a little better, bucko. Or else give me your copy of the Bran Code Talk Translation Manual because it seems I inadvertently left mine at home.”
“You really are a smart-ass, you know that?”
“So my brothers tell me.”
He shook his head and stared at the sand and bricks beneath his feet. “So here’s the deal.” He planted his hands on his hips and lifted his chin only enough to stare at her through the fan of his too-thick-for-a-boy-much-less-a-man eyelashes. “I’m gonna explain myself in no uncertain terms. But that’s gonna require me asking you a really personal question.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
“How many men have you slept with?”
Plop!And that, ladies and gentlemen, would be the sound of Maddy’s jaw hitting the ground at her feet. “Wow!” Her cheeks were on fire. We’re talking five-alarm. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t beat around the bush.”
“I warned you.” It was hard to tell for sure in the semidarkness, but she thought she saw him lift a challenging eyebrow. “So? How many?”
She considered equivocating, but knew if she did, she might never get to the bottom of whatever had him hesitating to take their relationship to the next level. She thrust out her chin and blurted, “Three.”
“Three?” He said the word like it was foreign to him.
“Yep. Three.” She nodded, and started ticking off names on her fingers. “There was Jake Reynolds, who I dated my last two years of high school. Brent Thomas, my college boyfriend. And finally, Winston St. James, who worked for my father for a while, and who I nearly married until we both realized we were far better friends than we were lovers and decided to call off the engagement.”
“Three,” Bran said again.
“Yep. Three,” she repeated.
“Three?” He shook his head really quickly like maybe a gnat had flown in his ear.
“What?” she demanded. “You can count, right? Why do you keep repeatin’ the number?”
“’Cause it’s worse than I thought.”
“I beg your pardon!” She bristled. If she’d been a hen, her feathers would be puffed out a foot from her body. “In case you didn’t get the memo, you big Neanderthal, slut-shamin’ went out in the nineties. We millennials grant women the same sexual rights, privileges, and powers of choice that men have enjoyed since the dawn of time, and I—”
“I meantonlythree,” he said, cutting her off. “That might as well be zero. And you’re nearly thirty.”
“In eight months!” she squawked, taking the chicken bit to a whole new level. This entire conversation had gotten off on the exit to Crazy Town and was now circling the square. “And hasn’t anyone ever told you never to talk about a woman’s age? That’s rule number two right behind don’t bring up politics or religion in polite company!”
“So in twenty-nine years and four months,” he said, ignoring her outburst, “you’ve only slept with three men.”
“Well,” she huffed, “I mean you can’t really count the first couple of decades, right? So it’s like I’ve slept with three men in—”
“And you were in long-term relationships with all of them,” he interrupted. His inflection made it sound like a statement instead of a question, but she answered him anyway.
“Well, duh.Of courseI was in long-term relationships with all of them.”
