Page 37 of Happy Hour

Remembering my pact with Emma, I denied the accusations and conveniently changed the subject to something sexual.

He was easily distracted when the subject involved sex, what man isn’t?

“What did you mean when you said it’s been a long time?” I suddenly blurted out.

Jameson choked on his water he’d just taken a drink of. “Huh?”

My cheeks flushed in embarrassment and I whispered, “Nothing,” pretending to look out the window, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Don’t do that.” He snapped back at me.

“Do what?”

“Ask a question likethatand pretend you didn’t.” he too avoided looking at me as we pulled into the parking lot of the SPEED studio.

“Answer it then.” I said boldly.

“It has been a long time.” He shrugged indifferently.

Looking anywhere but at him, I asked, “How long?”

Jameson groaned loudly parking next to a red SUV. “Over a year,”

I laughed...scratch that, I giggled hysterically almost to the point of tears.

“You’re such a shit.” Jameson barked at me. “And how long has it been for you?”

I stopped laughing instantly. Oh, how quickly the red flag can be thrown.

“A while,” My cheeks burned.

He brought his right hand up to my heated cheek. “Don’t get shy on my now, honey.”

Damn him.

“A year, maybe longer,” I mumbled suddenly finding my hands very interesting.

I snuck a glance over at him and his face scrunched as if he was trying to think of something and then reached for his Simplex hat on the dashboard. “With who?” he asked quietly putting the hat on. Almost methodically, he adjusted the fit to the way he preferred it.

It was my turn to choke, but not on water, on my own breath at this question. “Huh?”

“You heard me.” Though the hat concealed his expression slightly, his eyes narrowed at me.

“You don’t know him.” I knew this answer wasn’t going to work but I tried anyways. I could hardly admit to myself that I slept with Mike, the guy who squealed like a pig when he came, let alone tell Jameson.

Jameson shook his head slowly, his eyes penetrating. “That’snotwhat I asked.”

It was useless. He’d get it out of me anyways.

“Mike Tanner.” I finally said after a moment of silence.

“Where’d ya meet him?” He reached over the front seat for the posters in the back.

“Skagit. He was racing outlaw late models there one night when I was there with Tommy.”

Jameson was quiet, eerie quiet, sitting next to me. The only sound was the squeaking from the sharpie marker as it drug across the posters. His jaw was clenched, body tensed. I could see the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“Who was your last?” I tried breaking the silence.

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