Page 35 of Covetous

I force my gaze away from his, aware that it’s a mirror of my own flustered confusion, and reach for my phone.

Liv

Did you know Victor and Esme are in an open relationship???!? Like, all this fucking time. But now she’s freaking out that he probably fucked someone else last night.

“You’re in an open relationship?” I ask.

“Esme told you?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not Esme. But are you?”

He puts down the soapy sponge he’s using to wash the dishes, his movements deliberate. “We are,” he admits.

“I don’t mean to sound so critical, like there’s something wrong with it. I’m just surprised, I guess.”

Esme’s had open relationships before, so this isn’t out of left field. But it’s usually not something she keeps a secret from me and Liv.

He turns slightly, his expression unreadable. “It’s not something I would discuss with her friends. I assumed you already knew.”

The question slips out, almost on its own. “Was it your idea?”

“No. It was hers.”

Really? Judging by Esme’s text last night, she’s having second thoughts. “Does Isabella know?”

“No. It’s not like I bring other women here. I wouldn’t do that.”

My curiosity pushes further. “So, how does that work?”

He arches an eyebrow, a shadow of a smirk on his face. “Like all open relationships work. Sometimes I fuck other girls, and sometimes she fucks other guys, but in the end, we’re together, in a committed relationship.”

“Were you with someone else last night?” I’m well aware that is none of my business. I’m asking for Esme. And maybe a little bit for me, but I can’t even begin to ask myself why.

“No, I didn’t have sex last night. I was out with the guys, remember?”

So he says. I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “Do you ever get jealous?”

“I’m not a jealous person.”

“And you’re sure that she’s not?” Because I sure as shit would be. Ian and I are more on the traditional side of things when it comes to monogamy. So, yeah. Not happening. But this isn’t about me. This is about Esme’s concerning text message last night.

A look of understanding dawns on his face. “I’ll call her to check in.”

“You should.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Leave the dishes in the sink.”

As he strides away, a strange tension settles in my chest. “Would you stop?”

He halts, his back facing me.

I push for an answer. “If she wanted you to stop, would you?”

Slowly, he turns, his eyes meeting mine across the distance. “I don’t know.”

Chapter Twelve

Ian glances at his wristwatch, sighing for the third time in the last ten minutes. I think he wants me to hear it.

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