I stop in the middle of the room, blow out a hard breath, and close my eyes. “When I was nineteen years old, I fell in love with a married woman.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Be quiet. You’ll get your chance to talk.”
I don’t even have to look at her to know she’s murdering me with her eyes, but it doesn’t matter. Right now all that matters is that I clear the air between us. I need to get her naked and into bed, and that won’t happen if she’s still angry with me.
I walk over to the bar and pour myself a scotch. I chug it, then hold up the empty glass.
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” I pour another and drink that, too. Then I set down the glass, turn around, and fold my arms over my chest as I lean against the marble bar top.
I have no idea how to say what needs to be said, so I decide
