The First Taste(21)

“How many girls do you think I’m with?”

I lift a shoulder. “One plus one equals two. You’re sexy and single. You must have women falling all over you.”

“A few . . .” he says. I appreciate his honesty, even if it’s a little disappointing. No woman wants to hear about who else is screwing the man she’s sleeping with, no matter how detached she is. Or wants be. It’s only when he admits it that I realize I wish I were the only one. “There’s one regular,” he continues, “and once in a while when I get a night out, I might meet a woman. It’s mostly the one, though. Denise.”

I close my eyes at the name. Fuck. There’s a girl, of course there’s a girl, and she has a name—why? Why couldn’t he have left the name out? If I’m at all jealous, it’s eradicated by a deeper fear that immediately picks up on his subtext. “A regular one . . .? Jesus, Andrew. Please don’t tell me she’s your—”

“Girlfriend? No. I told you, I don’t date.”

Dread knots in my chest. I want to believe him, which is rare. Looking back, Reggie had tells—an inability to look me in the eye when he was being vague, or the way he made me feel foolish for acting suspicious, even though I had a right to be. I don’t see those signs with Andrew, and my gut tells me he’s genuine, but I’ve been wrong before. I could press him for details, try to catch him in a lie, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. I’ve known enough men to lie about it that I’d never completely believe him, no matter how sincere he sounded.

He seems like a good man, but even good men have weaknesses.

Even good men cheat.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew says, “but I thought we were on the same page. I was pretty clear earlier.”

I frown. “About what?”

“The fact that I don’t date. I didn’t mean it to come out so harsh. I mean, I’m having a good time, and I like you, I just—”

“Ohh,” I say when I understand what he means. “No, it’s not that.”

“You sighed, then got quiet. I believe in woman-speak, that means you didn’t like my answer.”

“I was thinking about something else entirely.”

“What?”

I’m reluctant to go down this path with Andrew, but I’ve backed myself into a corner. I try to think of a polite way to put it. “It’s just that I don’t know if I believe you. About Denise. I would never, ever want to hurt another woman the way I was . . .”

“Did your ex cheat on you?” he asks.

I look down into the bubbles. Reggie’s infidelity is no secret, but there’s no room for it in this tub. It’s too heavy, too much, for a fling. For a vanilla bubble bath. For Andrew to take on when it isn’t his problem. I shake my head. I mean that I don’t want to talk about it, but if he misunderstands, I won’t correct him.

“You said you’re getting a divorce, but you didn’t say why. If that’s not the reason, what is?”

“Andrew, please. We’re having a nice time.”

“What kind of husband was he?”

I sigh, frustrated. Normally, I’ll take any chance to bash Reggie, but this feels less like a defense mechanism and more like opening up. I’m already naked at his mercy as it is. “The distracted kind.”

Finally, Andrew shuts up. I don’t know what I expected him to say, just that I expected him to say something. When I tell women about Reggie’s affair, they react different ways. Some apologize, as if we’ve done something wrong just by being women. Some launch into their personal experiences with cheating—that usually comes with anger. I’m the second type—I launch and rage.

Men, though, are different. They usually gloss over it when I bring it up, an anecdote they didn’t ask for.

“Let’s not talk about it,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“Distracted,” Andrew says after a few seconds, as if he’s still registering the word. “Meaning . . .?”

“It’s okay,” I say. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Maybe it is okay, maybe it’s not. When you say distracted,” he presses, “you mean by other women?”

I bend my knees, breaching the scalding water in an attempt to cool off a little. It doesn’t help. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it, but everything so far tonight has been just right. I don’t want Reggie to ruin it. I don’t want Andrew’s reaction to ruin it by disappointing me. “He cheated on me,” I say. “With one woman that I know of. But it went on for almost a year.”

“A year?” Andrew raises his voice, startling me. “Are you kidding?”

“Kidding . . .?” I ask, unsure what he means. “It was an affair.”

He tightens his hold, tension cording his forearms. “An affair. For a year. Asshole.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Coward.”

I try to look back at him, confused, but I can’t see his expression. His reaction isn’t just unexpected; it’s intense. His body changes under mine, curling around me like a shield. Is he telling me what I want to hear? If so, why bother? “Reggie’s insecure, yes. It makes him weak, and it’s the source of his mistakes.” In business, in relationships, in life, Reggie always takes the shortcut, never puts all his cards on the table. He doesn’t give if he doesn’t think he can get. “How’d you know?”