“And I said, Nathan’s a piece of shit who needed to make you small so he’d feel big.” The anger in my voice surprises us both. “My turn. When’s the last time someone made you feel good about yourself?”
She’s quiet for so long, I think she won’t answer. Then: “I can’t remember.”
The admission hits like shrapnel.
“Your turn,” I prompt, needing to give her back some control.
“Why did you leave the military?”
The question I’ve been dodging. But she gave me truth, so: “Syria. Mission went wrong. Lost my team. Couldn’t trust my judgment after that.”
“What happened?”
“That’s two questions. You just asked why I left. That’s my answer.”
She waits, patient. Those amber eyes see too much.
“My turn,” I say, not letting her push for more. Besides, I’m actually enjoying this—watching her slowly unfold, hearing her voice get stronger with each answer. She’s shy about sex. Embarrassed by her desire. Something to remember.
“Did Nathan ever make you come?”
She jerks back as if I’ve slapped her. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“That’s…” Her face goes scarlet. She opens her mouth, closes it, then whispers, “Why would you ask that?”
“Because he told you that you have sex like a nun. Made you think you’re broken. I’m betting he never satisfied you.”
She curls tighter, face hidden against her knees. The silence stretches so long I think I’ve pushed too far. Then, barely audible: “I don’t … I don’t know.”
Christ. She doesn’t know? Which means she probably never has. Nathan, that selfish prick, spent three years with this woman and never once made sure she?—
“You’d know,” I say gently. “Trust me, you’d know.”
She peeks up at me, mortified but also—curious? “Can we please talk about something else?”
“Fair enough. Your turn to ask.”
She takes a shaky breath, clearly desperate to change the subject. “Do you have family?”
“Mother in Seattle.”
“So you were an only child?”
“Yeah. However, I had twin sisters who died before I was born. Complications. Mom never really recovered.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is stronger now, gaining confidence. “And your mom?”
I should remind her it’s my turn to ask, but Christ, she’s actually talking. Multiple sentences. Questions flowing naturally instead of being pulled out word by word. I’ll let her have this.
“Alive. Seattle. Thinks I work private security.”
“Does she worry about you?”
“Every day.”
“What about your father?”
