Page 46 of When the Smoke Clears

“A malapropism is when you misuse a word, a sort of verbal blunder, like meaning congregate but saying conjugate. Sedentary and sedimentary. It happens to most everyone at some point.”

“But not you?”

I shake my head. “Even me.”

“Such as?”

I shrug. “I don’t know off the top of my head.”

Again, he yawns.

“I’m going to bed.” I stand, pulling my hair over one shoulder.

“What?” he asks when I don’t move beyond the sofa.

“Nothing. Good night.” I smile.

He returns a chin lift. It’s a lazy nod.

“You say, ‘Good night, Everleigh. It’s been lovely chatting with you.’”

Will’s right brow makes a slight lift like his chin did. “Actually, I don’t say that. I didn’t say that. And I have no plans of saying that. Is this some weird role-playing you do with your patients?”

“Everleigh, let me walk you to the shed since it’s so late. I’d hate for a bear to attack you,” I say, ignoring his previous comment.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on. I’m enjoying this little skit.”

“Everleigh,” I continue with a deeper voice, which draws a smile from him, “I’d love to help you finish the inside of your barndominium. I’ll bring the beer. You order the pizza.”

“I’ve got news for you,” he says. “If I’m helping you, then you’re providing both the beer and pizza.”

“So that’s a yes?” I inflate with giddiness.

He stands, forcing me to step away from the sofa. His gaze slides along my face as he slowly studies me with an unreadable expression. We’re close, so close, like we were outside of the bar.

“You tell me if you’ve had sex with anyone but me, and I’ll tell you if I’m going to help you with your barn.”

I blink several times. How often does he think about my sex life?

“Have you lost sleep over this? Do you lie in bed at night, imagining me in my bed, thinking of you—my one and only sexual encounter? And when you think of yourself as my one and only, how does that make you feel?”

“It makes me feel how I always feel after a woman I’ve had sex with can no longer imagine another man giving her such pleasure. Powerful. But you know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Voltaire,” I say.

He wrinkles his nose. “Uncle Ben. Spider-Man.”

I roll my eyes. “Voltaire coined the phrase.”

“Good night, Everleigh. It’s been painful chatting with you.”

Gah!

I want to grab his shirt and make him kiss me. I’m not seventeen anymore. And I’ve accomplished a lot over the past decade, but I haven’t stopped thinking about William Landry, my first.

“You did,” I say on my way to the back door.

“I did what?”