Page 265 of A Matter of Time

“Yes,” he insisted. “And I bet it’s been even worse since we broke up. You’re, like, the biggest slut in Chicago, and you know it.”

He was right to some degree. Before him, after Sam, there had been a lot of men. And before Sam, there had been too many to count. So I did sleep around a lot, but when I was with someone, I was monogamous. My first instinct was to loyalty and wanting to belong to someone. If Sam wanted me, I would…

I jerked hard, startling Sloane, who was sitting on the other side of me.

“Jesus, Jory,” she said, chuckling nervously, sliding her chair away from me, closer to her boyfriend, Derek, who was sitting beside her. “Just because you’re drunk, don’t spill on me.”

But I wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t even finished my second drink yet. But everyone thought I was or would be. That was always the assumption.

“Did you hear me?” Aaron asked.

What was I doing, thinking about Sam?

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m…fine.”

“Look at me.”

I did as he asked.

“It used to piss me off, seeing you go home with all those guys after turning me down. It took me forever to get you to say yes.”

I heard his words, but I wasn’t actually thinking about what he was saying. I wasn’t emotionally connected at all.

“When we finally got together… God, Jory, it was like winning the lottery.”

I was a prize, then.

“Jory…”

I looked into his eyes, saw how hungry they were, how dark.

He leaned close to me so he wouldn’t be overheard. “You know people look at you and think you’re hot, but they have no idea how great your body is.”

Always, this had been Aaron’s need—for everyone to admire his things, to covet his possessions…and I had been one of them.

When we used to go out with his friends, he would buy me a shirt or a sweater—a gift, he’d say. And I would put it on, only to find that it was a size too small.

“Your body is gorgeous,” he’d tell me. “You should show it off more.”

If we were lounging by the pool, he’d run his hand over my stomach in front of his friends, tell them that you could scrub laundry on my abs, sometimes yanking down the side of my swim trunks to trace the V-line from my hip to my groin. I would shove him off me, head for the house, and he would catch me and say he was sorry, that he never meant to embarrass me. I was just so beautiful, what was he supposed to do? I told him I wanted to be treated with respect. And he would promise to, even as his hand slid over my ass to the catcalls and whistles of his friends. The end result was logical; the people who mattered to him thought our relationship was a joke. They were sure that all I had to offer was what you could see.

We would go to expensive places, and Aaron was reminded by his friends to buy my drinks or my meal since I couldn’t possibly afford it. My age was a constant source of amusement, my lack of a financial portfolio and property cause for concern. It was understood that he was slumming with me because I had a hot body and I was good in bed. And when we broke up, leaving that part behind had been a huge relief. What was interesting was that Dane’s friends never made me feel bad about myself. Even the guys just like those in Aaron’s posse, trust-fund babies, never treated me with anything but respect and inclusion. The only difference was the linchpins themselves. Aaron set the tone with his friends, as Dane did with his. One said Jory was valuable, the other did not. I really needed to rethink spending any time with Aaron Sutter. It wasn’t great for my self-esteem.

“What are you thinking about?”

I shook my head, gulping down my drink.

He leaned in close, and I felt his warm breath in my ear. “Jory, I know you’re back to the clubs, sleeping with any guy who asks…so I’m asking…come home with me. Choose me tonight. Please.”

But it was over, and going back was just plain stupid. Just being with him, seeing the sneering looks from his friends, hearing him criticize me was annoying.

He turned my face to him. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Too late,” I said, lifting my chin out of his hand and pushing back from the table. “But it’s normal for you and the rest of your pals, so I’m not upset. I’m just done.”

“But I don’t care that you’re like that,” he went on, because he wasn’t really listening to me. “I just want you to⁠—”