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“They are two different things. Dating and boyfriends. At least, they can be.”
And now he was entirely confused. “In what way?”
“You can date someone, but not exclusively. Which means they are not your boyfriend or girlfriend. That term is reserved for when you only have one.”
He wasn’t so sure he liked where this was heading. “So you’ve dated men and had boyfriends too?”
“Yes.”
She was laughing. He was not.
When he sat back down, he returned to his spot on the far side of the blanket, ignoring his body’s insistence that he sit closer to Hannah.
“How many?” he asked, repeating the question.
“I’ll have you know, jealousy is one of my least favorite traits in the men that I date.”
He tried to use her same arch tone. “I’ll have you know, I care not what traits you like, or do not like, in men. I would just have you answer the question.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care how many men I’ve dated or how many boyfriends I’ve had?”
Good question.
“I just want to know what it’s like in your time.”
“Bullshit,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. The traveling gown was simple, thinner than the others and quite becoming on her. Thank God he had won his argument with her this morning. She’d thought to wear those “shorts” again, but he’d refused, knowing he could not bear it for any length of time.
“An epithet I haven’t heard before,” he said, laughing.
“Yet you knew it was one.” She indulged him. “I don’t know how many men I’ve dated, but I’ve had three serious boyfriends.”
He changed his mind . . . he didn’t want to know.
“The last one was the most serious, until he dumped me for his ex.”
“Pardon?”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
He was going to comment on the fact that this foolish man had chosen another woman, until he realized—
“You said most women in your time are not virgins when they wed.”
Hannah brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Whether she was trying to get comfortable or deliberately tormenting him, Tristan couldn’t be sure. But when she pressed her knees to her chest, the swell of her bosom called to him. His hands ached to touch her there. Everywhere.
“Aye,” she said, chuckling, apparently at her own attempt to sound like him.
“So you are not—”
Her smile disappeared. “That is an awfully personal question, Tristan. Do people in this time usually speak so openly about such topics?”
“I did not mean to offend you.”
He could see only her outline, courtesy of the fire and the faint light from a hazy moon.
