Page 106

His words had the opposite effect he’d intended. I’d already known that. Banks had admitted as much, and while he’d said he never lied to me, some part of me had wondered if it had gone on any longer than that. That first month we’d had only one awkward, mandatory night between us . . . That first month we’d been virtual strangers . . . It was almost forgivable.

Almost.

All of that came out before we’d even ordered. The meal passed pleasantly. Clearing the air between us so quickly seemed to set the mood, which was comfortable and easy.

It wasn’t until we were saying our goodbyes that we ran into a snag.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said intently after he’d kissed both of my cheeks. His eyes were burning into mine, our faces arrested close together.

I blinked at him. “Why?” I asked.

He laughed, pulling back and shattering the awkward moment. “Can you possibly doubt that I’m attracted to you? You’re gorgeous, sweet, and come with the added benefit of effortless revenge. More than effortless, enjoyable. I’d be a fool not to at least ask.”

“I’d enjoy seeing you again, but I’m not in the market to date,” I told him candidly. “I could, however, use a friend.”

He was not put off at all. “I think we have a deal, my dear.”

“You went on a date,” Banks’ voice was a wretched attempt at blandness that landed in an arrow straight bullseye onto accusatory.

We were just sitting down for tea on our weekly meet-up. He said it straight off, before we’d even gone through the usual pleasantries.

“It’s none of your business,” I said calmly. “Even if it was, you have no room to talk. You were dating when you were married to me.”

Of course he knew I was absolutely right and he was completely wrong, but he couldn’t seem to make himself react appropriately.

“Those weren’t dates, and you and I were strangers,” he pointed out infuriatingly. “I didn’t know it was a real marriage, that I wanted it to be a real marriage until I’d fucked up too bad to fix it. You know I regret everything.”

I didn’t say anything to that. What did his regret matter? Was it real? Questionable. Did it mean anything even if it was? Also questionable.

I let the silence stretch out. It was easier for me than usual. My fake date had somehow given me an edge, though just thinking it made me realize I was enjoying that edge too much, which was a problem in itself. Any pleasure I got from our relationship was counterproductive against my objective, which was supposed to be moving on.

“Please,” he said suddenly. He was as wild as I was calm. “Please just tell me. I have no right but I need to know. Did you fuck him?”

That surprised a laugh out of me. “I don’t have to answer that.” I paused. “It’s insulting.”

Strangely that seemed to soothe him. “So you didn’t.”

I glared. “Of course I didn’t. I’m not you.”

“I get it, okay? The thought of another man so much as laying a pinky on you makes me ill. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone. I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I wish that I could. Why’d you go out with him?”

“He asked.”

“Just to mess with me, then.”

“Maybe that was an added bonus.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“None of your business. Drop it, okay?”

He stewed after that. Went into full-on sullen brat mode until it was time to go. And then he went a little crazy again. “Will you see him again?”

I shrugged. “It’s possible.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide and fierce. “Don’t fuck him.”

I glared at him. “You have no right—”