Page 132 of The Manny

“Well…” I swallowed. “I’m not actually involved with him yet.”

“So… you didn’t sleep together?”

I scowled. “I literally met him last night.”

“I’m sure you’ve had one-night stands before.”

“Yes. I have. I’m not looking for that.”

“Since when?”

“I’m not afraid of relationships, Jack.” I gathered a handful of potatoes and dropped them into the pan I had heating on the stove. They sizzled loudly as the moisture in the vegetables connected with the hot oil.

“Well, when we first… slept together… you said you only expected sex.”

“Right. That’s all you were offering. Why would I have expected more?”

“Oh.” He narrowed his eyes. “Either way, if you’ve decided you want something serious with someone, Crispin is the wrong guy.”

“And you know this how?” I faced him, frustration eating at me.

He hesitated. “I know someone who’s slept with him. As far as I know they’re still sleeping together.”

That information surprised me a little, but I kept my face blank. “How could you possibly know it’s the same guy?”

“Crispin isn’t exactly a common name.”

“Even if it is him, we all have a past.”

“You seriously don’t care the guy has a reputation for sleeping around?”

“Rumors aren’t always true.”

He took another swig of beer, and once he’d swallowed, said, “I trust my source. He’s not a liar.”

“And I trust my feelings for Crispin.”

A flush worked its way into his cheeks. “You just met the guy last night. You already havefeelingsfor him?”

“I didn’t say I was in love.” I shrugged. “But, I like him. He’s funny. Smart. Sexy.”

“I guess I don’t find sluts sexy,” he growled.

I bristled. “Just because someone has multiple partners, that doesn’t make them a slut. I had no idea what a judgmental prude you were.”

“Why am I wasting my breath?” He shook his head and finished off his beer. He tossed the empty bottle in the trash and moved away. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Yeah, God forbid you finish a conversation before running away,” I muttered, turning back to the stove.

His shoes squeaked on the floor as he stopped walking. “I’m not running away,” he rasped. “I need a shower.”

“Whatever, Jack.” I focused my attention on the sizzling potatoes. “By the way, I’ll need next Sunday off again. In fact, as per my contract, I’ll be taking every Sunday off from now on.”

He didn’t respond, he just left the kitchen without another word.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jack

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