“A calculator then?”
“Look,” he said, rolling his eyes likeshewas the insane one. She wassoclose to whacking him upside the head that she had to recross her arms. “All I can say for sure is the number is more than you can count on your fingers and toes. But less than the population of Miami.”
“Gross!” She curled her lip.
“Hey!” he barked in affront. “I thought you said slut-shaming went out in the nineties.”
“Sorry.” She held up a hand. “You’re absolutely right. It’s not my place to judge. Just…” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you…um…up to date on all your shots?”
The look he gave her was withering. “I’m not a dog.”
“Well, that’s obviously not true,” she muttered. “You’re ahorndog.” And then a thought occurred. “Or is it somethin’ else? Are you a…” She glanced around as if worried someone might be listening in before lowering her voice. “Are you a sex addict? Are you undergoin’ treatment? Is that why you—”
“I’m not a sex addict!” he whispered impatiently.
She turned her head and narrowed her eyes. “How can you be sure? Have you ever consulted a professional?”
He blew out a huge, windy sigh and she could tell he was hanging on to his patience by a thin, red hair. “I amnota sex addict,” he insisted. “Do I enjoy sex? Undoubtedly. But I don’thaveto have it. In fact, there were times when I was away on long missions that I wentmonthswithout it.”
“Wholemonths?” she stressed sarcastically. “Wow! I think the Catholic Church might want to sign you up for an honorary priesthood. Wholemonths!”
“And I know I don’t need shots ’cause the Navy tested us. And also because I’ve always been extremely careful,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “No glove, no love, as they say.”
“Who says that?”
“I don’t know!” His exasperation was showing.Join the club.“Everyone!”
“If you say so.”
“Idosay so. And the reason I’ve had so many sexual partners is ’cause I’m a healthy thirty-four-year-old man with a healthy thirty-four-year-old man’s appetites who has refused to get into romantic entanglements. Which means I’m relegated to one-night stands and brief repeat performances with women who share my take on the whole sex-versus-relationship thing.”
When she didn’t respond, simply because she wasn’t surehowto respond—she was still trying to wrap her mind around Mr. Casanova here and whether she was shocked, offended, impressed, or what—he sighed and added, “You’re the first woman I’ve been friends with, Maddy. And I wannakeepyou as a friend. The first thing I do in the mornings is check my email, and it’s the last thing I do at night. I look forward to our talks, our jokes, our end-of-day wrap-ups. Hell, I even like our arguments.”
Warmth spread in her belly like the hot toddies her daddy liked to sip at Christmastime. “Since when do we argue?”
“Uh, every time you try to convince meSilence of the Lambsshould rank higher thanShawshank Redemptionin a tally of the one hundred greatest movies of all time.”
“Excuse me,” she said, immediately distracted by the old disagreement. “ButSilence of the Lambswon five Academy Awards. How many didShawshank Redemptionwin?”
“It was nominated for seven.”
“Yes,” she allowed. “But how many did itwin?”
“You cannot base the merits of a movie simply on the number of awards it—” He shook his head and karate chopped the air. “Never mind. My point is I like you, Maddy. I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m doing it because I don’t think you fully understand how huge it is for me to say that. Ilikeyou. So no matter how much I want you, no matter how much I dream about screwing your brains out”—That sounds good; let’s do that—“I refuse to do anything about it because I value your friendship more than I want another hot roll in the hay.”
She was missing something. The pieces were there, but she had yet to put the puzzle together. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we do both? Why can’t we be friendsandscrew each other’s brains out? Isn’t that how most—”
“’Cause you’re gonna want something more than that. You’re gonna want arelationship.” He said the word like it was foul. “And I’m not gonna give it to you.Ever.I’ll never be your boyfriend, much less anything more.”
Wow. And there it was. The truth. Finally.
You asked for it, her conscience reminded her.
Yes. Yes, she had. Which proved she was an idiot.
A hollow feeling opened up inside her, yawning and stretching, filling her up and emptying her out at the same time. Not wanting him to see how off balance she was, she said flippantly, “Well…when you put itthatway, I guess I see your point.”
He blinked at her for a full five seconds. Then the tension in his shoulders relaxed. “So,” he said, “friends then?”
