A.J. takes the glass of wine from my hand and sets it on the bar. Then he takes my arm and steers me past the pool and into the house. People scatter in front of us like scared mice; A.J. is wearing his serial killer expression. The thunderclouds have returned over his head.
He takes me to a first-floor bathroom, locks the door behind us, and backs me up against the wide marble sink. “All right. Say your piece.”
Breathing hard, I cross my arms over my chest. “No, I think you should go first. And I’ll give you five minutes to cover all the important points, specifically why and when you talked to her about me, when the last time was that you slept with her, and what the hell you two said to each other at the end there, when it looked like you were making plans to hook up later.”
He says
