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“Do you, Oliver? Do you really get it?” I whipped my head around, shooting him a glare. “How many times?”
“How many times what?” he asked with confusion.
I ground my teeth. “How many times did you fuck her?”
“A few times,” he admitted, “but not in the past couple of years.”
“You told me you didn’t have a lot of sex before me. How close were you to her?”
“We spent time together. Why are you so upset?”
I clenched my fists. “Because she touched and kissed you like you were hers. You just stood there like an idiot. I looked like a fool,” I yelled.
“I didn’t want to create a scene.”
I got into his face. “So if one of my exes did that to me you wouldn’t have an issue as long as I didn’t create a scene?”
His eyebrows slammed together. “Of course I would have a problem with it. She means nothing to me and never did like you do.”
He tried to push me against the wall and go in for a kiss, but I ducked under his arm and started walking down the hall to the bedroom.
“Ryleigh, let’s talk about this,” he begged.
“There’s nothing to talk about. How many other women will I encounter that will do the same thing? How many know your body intimately and want to be where I am?”
“Which is where,” he said as he strode into the bedroom and tore off his sweater.
“Your fiancée, sharing your bed, loving you.”
“There are a few but I never had any feelings for them. I never ever felt the way about them that I feel about you. We belong together. Don’t let this one stupid thing drive us apart.”
I sat down on the bed and ripped at my shoelaces, creating a knot because I was too hasty. I tried to open it and got frustrated, finally toeing off my sneakers and kicking them away from the bed. Oliver picked them up and began working on the knots. I said nothing as I tore off my socks then went to go the closet. He joined me a couple of minutes later, pressing his chest against my bare back as I hunted for a shirt to wear.
“Oliver,” I whispered.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
I turned around, leaning against him. I no longer felt like eating as my stomach churned like a washing machine on the heavy cycle. I just wanted to relax in bed even though it was barely 6:00 p.m.
“Do you still want to get pizza?” he asked softly.
I shook my head. “Maybe later.”
“Are you sick? You only ate a chicken sandwich for lunch.”
“I’m upset.”
“Please don’t be. You mean so much to me.”
I backed away, taking one of Oliver’s white t-shirts that was folded in one of the cubbies on his side of the closet. I slipped it over my head before I pushed my jeans down my hips and let them fall to the floor.
“You’re wearing that to bed?”
“Yes, why?”
Oliver licked his lips. “It’s seductive.”
“It’s a freaking white t-shirt.”
