Repeat(27)

His brow creases. All of this is dangerous ground. “That’s bullshit. You fit in with me and my family and friends just fine. I never expected you to change for me. Was surprised when you said you wanted the tattoo, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You liked ink on me, but it wasn’t really your thing. Until you decided it was. Anyway, Shannon’s way off,” he says. “My life isn’t edgy or some such bullshit. I go to work, come home and walk my dog, do laundry on the weekends. It’s a long way from anarchy and mayhem.”

“But do you separate the colors when you’re washing? Because if you don’t . . . whoa. That’s really flouting the rules right there.”

“Is it now?”

“Oh yeah. Chaos, pandemonium, total bad-boy territory. Chicks go wild for that sort of thing.”

His gaze is amused.

It warms me. “Believe me or not.”

“I think not.”

“Tell me something formative about you,” I say. Then rush to soften the demand for information before the inevitable wariness enters his eyes. “Roomie. Ed. Friend.”

“That what we are, huh?” He sighs. The question seems to be hypothetical, so I keep my mouth shut. Maybe he’s not sure what label to slap on us either. “Okay. Let me think.”

I eat. Harder to blurt out silly random crap with a full mouth. Or messier at the very least.

“I didn’t have my growth spurt till senior year. I was always one of the shortest in class up until then,” he says. “Never got picked for sports or anything. Some of the other kids gave me so much shit for it. Then, suddenly, I shot up like a foot within six months or so. I guess that counts as formative. It didn’t make any difference to my friends, but some people really started treating me differently.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah, some of them were girls.” Out comes a hint of a smirk. “It was like all of a sudden I existed for a reason other than for piling crap on.”

“Did you score?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

I smile. Maybe not, but I bet he kisses well. The tingles are back.

“It was a good lesson in not falling for people’s false perceptions of you, you know?”

“Do you mean just because you were pretty all of a sudden didn’t mean who you were as a person changed?” I ask.

He licks his lips, eyes a little wary now. Or assessing, maybe. I don’t know.

“What? You’re a pretty man; you must know you are. How is that a big deal? Am I not supposed to say that?”

“It’s considered bad form to hit on your ex.”

“I’m not hitting on you; I’m stating a fact. Oh my God, Ed.” I scoff. “Also, I know full and well that using exes for back-up sex is a thing, so don’t try that with me.”

He stands so suddenly his chair screeches back against the floor. “For your information, I don’t fuck around with my exes. Ever.”

Bowl and empty beer bottle in hand, he stomps over to the kitchen. His movements stiff, brutal. The man is mad.

“I hit a nerve,” I say, realization weighing me down the same as dread.

“No shit.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

The stiff line of his back is like an insurmountable wall as he rinses off his bowl and cutlery in the sink. And for a couple of minutes, I’d actually been doing okay there.

Conversation apparently over, I finish up at the table and wait in line to wash up. Gordon follows behind hopefully. If anything, my nearness seems to make Ed seize up even more.

No way, no how, can we live together like this. I feel as if, when it comes to him, I’m surrounded by emotional landmines. Never knowing when my dumb ass is going to stumble across another one and yet again blow things to hell. For all the talking she did, Shannon didn’t exactly go into specifics about the breakup. She mostly just dwelled on how ill-suited Ed and I were and how inevitable the implosion of our relationship had been. Or at least, I think that’s all she said. My mind wandered a time or ten. Being talked at is the worst.

God, coming here was such a bad idea. “That’s what our breakup was about, huh?” I ask. “Me thinking you’d cheated on me with an ex?”

Movements brisk, he shuts off the tap and wipes his hands on a tea towel. Basically confirming my query. Much as I might hate it, part of me revels in the newly acquired information. Another piece of the puzzle no one had previously deigned to mention. Then he’s gone, heading for his bedroom. “Sweet dreams, Clem.”

And the door is shut, locking me out.

“I don’t think he meant that,” I say, picking out the remaining shrimp for Gordon. Since we’re no longer at the table, there’s no breaking the rules. “Not really. What do you think, beautiful boy?”

Given the way his tail is beating against the hardwood floor, Gordon agrees.

“Oh, you’re the best puppy. It’s nice to have you on my side.”

He laps up the treats right out of the palm of my hand. Little grunting noises of delight spilling out of him the entire time. I choose not to see this as bribery. More of a waste-not, want-not situation.

“Want to sleep on my bed with me?” I ask, patting his head. “I bet that’s breaking the rules too and I don’t even care.”