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“Oh.” I fidget with the water bottle. “What do they mean?”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Another time.”

I shouldn’t have asked. He’s already pissed off about something, and here I am, probably annoying him even more with my drunk babbling.

Why do I always have to be so curious? He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. And why should he? It’s not like we’re anything. We’re just fucking. No strings attached.

But then why does it feel like there are strings? Why does it hurt when he shuts me out like this?

I take another sip of water, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. I should just keep my mouth shut. Let him take me home, sleep it off, and pretend this never happened.

But I can’t. Because as much as I try to deny it, I want more. I want him to open up to me, to let me in. I want to know what those tattoos mean, what he’s thinking and why he seems angry.

I want him to want me, not just my body.

Does he want more with Sophie?

The radio plays softly in the background, some indie song with lyrics about lost loves and broken hearts. Rather than enduring painfully accurate ballads, I opt for silence by turning off the music.

“What are you thinking?” Connor glances sideways at me.

“Nothing.” Truthfully, there are countless things running through my mind. At the forefront, Sophie and him.

“It must be something if you look ready to cry.”

I pout. “I don’t look like that.”

“I know you better than that. Talk to me.”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, at least talk to your friends about it. I won’t peek, promise. My eyes will stay there.” He points toward the street.

I don’t need to because I know what they would say. Ask him.

“Are you sleeping with other women?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, born of whiskey-fueled jealousy and doubt.

“Why would you think that?” His tone is deceptively mild.

The question has been asked. I can’t take it back now.

“It’s just… I heard some things about you.”

“From who? That guy who was all over you?”

“No.” I sink further into my seat. “The other women. They talk about you.”

“What exactly are they saying?”

“That you and Sophie are… close.” I hate how vulnerable I sound.

“And you believe them?” His lips thin into a hard line. “You think I would do that?”

“No!” I throw my hands in the air. “I mean, I don’t know. We never said we were exclusive.” My throat tightens. If he says no… I don’t know if I can bear it. I fidget with the strap of my purse. “I just thought, since we…”

Since we had sex. Since you fucked me countless times at different places like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, you’d only want me. That I’m enough.

“Since we what?” he asks.

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