“She was trying to protect me.”
“From what?”
She held my gaze. “From you.”
I let that sit there between us for a moment. Then I leaned forward, both forearms on the bar, close enough that I watched her breath catch.
“Nobody needs protecting from me.”
“Really?”
I shook my head. “The things I do?—”
I paused, not sure how explicit I should get. There was…there was something between us right now, tonight, in this empty bar. We were alone. She’d walked in here needing something and stayed.
I’d noticed her when I was dropping off my kid. I couldn’t deny that. First day of school, two months ago. She’d been crouched down to Nell’s level in the classroom doorway, straight dark hair tumbling like water over her one shoulder, saying something that made my daughter feel safe and allowed Nell to turn around and say,I’m okay, dad.Then Nell had run in…and Maggie Laine had looked up at me and I’d gotten the full picture—blue eyes, wide smile, too fucking young—and I’d thought absolutely not and meant it.
Then she’d turned around and I’d let my eyes slide over her: high-waisted pants that hugged her ass just right, a dip in her shirt at the back showing the barest hint of a tattoo.
Fuck, I wanted to see that tattoo.
“You were saying…?” she murmured.
“It’s not hypnotism,” I finally said. “It’s good old fashioned consent—she asks, I say yes. I ask, she says yes. We do our little song and dance, and I guess I’m just that good.”
Maggie stared at me for a long, long moment.
“That’s it?” she said. “That’s the big secret?”
I laughed. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Something more mysterious, I guess. Ms. Petersen made it sound like athing.”
“That’s because Ms. Petersen and I hooked up about fifteen years ago and she’s never been satisfied with her husband. Not my problem.”
Maggie stared in complete and utter shock.
Okay…maybe I went a bit too far there.
“You and Ms. Petersen—” She stopped. Shook her head. “Ms. Petersen who wears the sweater with the apples on it.”
“It was fifteen years ago.”
“She’s married.”
“She wasn’t then.” I picked up a glass. “She’s been married twelve years. Do the math.”
Maggie did the math. Something crossed her face that she was very unsuccessfully trying to hide.
“So the Nash Effect,” she said carefully, “is just—you’re just very?—“
“Good at it,” I said. “Yeah.”
“And Ms. Petersen has been warning your daughter’s teachers about you for?—“
“Fifteen years, apparently.” I set down the glass. “Look, I’m not going to apologize for my past. I’ve never lied to anyone, never made promises I didn’t mean. Women in this town know what I am.”
“And what are you?”
