I nod. “Thought I’d use it to talk to other men.”
“That guy’s such a fucking asshole.” He shakes his head, and grabs the milk from a bag. “He wouldn’t have to worry about you wandering if he took care of you in the first place.”
I stop unpacking boxes of crackers, and stare at him. “I wouldn’t have cheated on him.”
Malice shakes his head, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’d be one of the few people excused for doing so if you had.”
“But I wouldn’t have. I’m not like that.” My husband may have been cold, uncaring, and manipulative. Still, it didn’t give me license to be unfaithful. I’m not wired to think that way. Fucked up, really,
“A person has to love you for you to be able to cheat on them,” he says coolly. “I’m wagering he didn’t love you.”
“I’m not sure.” I’d never thought about that. There was no doubt I no longer loved Dylan, but did he think he loved me? Surely not. The masochist in me wanted to believe he did though, and that was why he still came home to me when he had Deandra.
“Have you ever been loved, Jane?” Malice stands with his back to the counter, leaning against the edge with his arms folded.
I fixate on his muscular shoulders while I reply. “I want to say yes.” Definitely must have worked that body part today.
“But?”
“I’m not sure.”
He sighs, and unpacks the last bag. “Twenty questions.”
“Huh?”
“We’ll play Twenty Questions, turn-about, until you’re satisfied you know enough about me, and I feel like I know more about Jane than the terrified woman I used to watch limp to her mailbox every couple of weeks.”
“You used to watch me?” Yep. That’s the only part of that statement that stuck.
“Notice you, more like.”
Huh.
“Who goes first?” I ask.
Malice produces a coin from his pocket. “Heads, or tails?”
“Tails.” I’ve never been at the head of anything.
The coin flips into the air, and he catches it on the back of his hand with a slap. We both lean over, eager to see the result. He pries his fingers away one by one, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and reveals the head.
“Damn!”
He chuckles at my outburst. “Are you ready for this, Jane?”
“Lay it on me.” I grin, oddly at ease with the concept of sharing information about myself with him. Earlier I would have been thinking of twenty answers to get out of it, but having him close reminds me how comfortable I am around him—when he’s not angry, that is. “What’s your first question?”
“Who proposed? You, or him?”
I raise an eyebrow. Hadn’t picked that to be the first question. “Him.”
“Why did you say yes?”
“I loved him, back then.”
“When did you realize you were wrong?”
“The first time it got serious enough that I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.”
He cringes, and buries the hurt as quickly as it arrived. “How long were you happy?”
I look away from his expectant gaze, and run my eye around the moldings of the ceiling. I’ve been miserable so long it takes me a while to think back on it. “A year?”
“You’re not overly sure of your answer.”
“I’m not sure if I was ever truly happy.”
He nods knowingly. “Favorite memory?”
I smile. I know this one. “Sunday ice creams at the market with my dad when I was a kid.”
The corners of his lips curl up. “Least favorite.”
“Thinking I was pregnant last year.”
The smirk falls from his lips faster than a plane in a nosedive. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. If you had any sense about you, you’d be relieved, like I was when I got my next period.”
“Let’s go with something safe.” He swallows thickly. “Any siblings?”
“One. An older sister.”
“Why don’t you talk to her?”
“Haven’t since she left home when I was twelve.”
He nods. “Parents: married, or divorced?”
“Married.”
“How old are you?” A grin spreads across his face.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Don’t women hate being asked that?”
“Usually, but for whatever reason I couldn’t care less if you knew.” I smile. His grin is nothing short of infectious. “Twenty-seven. You?”
“Not your turn yet, Jane.” He narrows his eyes at me, the grin fixed in place. “I’ll give you this one though. Thirty-one.”