Page 91 of The Last Good Man

“Guess.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s a five-year gap too much?”

I perk up.

“Seriously?”

I’m half happy that it’s not worse.

Does he look his age?

Twenty-nine years old?

Yes. He can be in his late twenties.

Oh, that sounds so bad.

But then a glint in his eyes gives him away.

“It’s not that, is it?”

“No.”

“You served time…” I murmur.

He chuckles.

“What?” I say.

“It sounded funny. Serving time doesn’t make me older.”

“How old are you?”

He runs his teeth over his bottom lip, and I want to kiss himsobadly. I push upright, my hair falling over my breasts, my legs folded under me. He can’t peel his eyes away from me, and I read a pang of regret in his gaze, which tells me I won’t like his answer, and I’m moments away from being mad at him.

He uncrosses his arms and lifts all his fingers while mouthing the number just in case I haven’t caught it.

“Ten. It’s ten…”

“What??”

My voice explodes like a pricked balloon.

“Shhh…”

“Don’t shush me,” I bark, pulling away from him. “How? How can you be so young?

I don’t pay attention as I crawl away from him, looking for my robe, which is on the other side of the bed.

To his amusement, I slide off the edge and fall to the floor.

“Hey. Easy. Easy,”hesays, leaping off the bed and rounding it to help me up.

Faster than him, I push up and spin around before knowing exactly where I want to go.

I don’t want to cross paths with him, so I dash to the closet,where I look for my ownfuzzy bathrobe.The one I was supposed to wear if he weren’t here with me and lulled me into orgasm–inducing activities.

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