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“I preferred the nervous guy.”
“He’s dead.”
“That’s unfortunate. I liked him.”
“You’ve got terrible taste in men.”
“I bought you, didn’t I?”
“Exactly.”
She smiles. Then goes quiet again.
I brush the hair from her face. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Anything hurt?”
Her expression softens. “No. I’m good.”
“Good.”
She studies me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Rule five.”
I groan. “Worst fucking rule.”
“You agreed to it.”
“Under duress.”
She traces one of the tattoos over my ribs. “You really haven’t been with anyone in twelve years?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m curious.”
“About my sex life?”
“Yes.”
“Getting possessive, librarian?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why twelve years?”
I stare at the ceiling. “Didn’t plan it.”
“That’s a long time to accidentally not sleep with anyone.”
“Wasn’t celibate for spiritual enlightenment, Clara.”
She waits.
I sigh. “There were a few dates.”
