Page 57 of Sweet Pea

“No. Because when women are together for long enough, they eventually start talking shit about their men, right?”

“I suppose.”

“C’mon counselor, you should know better than to lie under oath,” he teased and gently tickled my ribs.

I squirmed and he held me tighter. “Okay,” I admitted with a giggle. “So, you’re confident that when your ‘old lady’ is out with her friends that she won’t talk shit about you.”

“No, that’s not it at all. I fully expect her to talk shit about me.”

“What?”

“Sure. I’m sure I would have earned every lash of the whip.”

“Then what are you so confident about?”

“Because I’d know that whatever grievances she had against me weren’t related to the bedroom. No matter what she may say to her girlfriends, it would never be that I didn’t make her come ’til she couldn’t see straight.”

“Oh my god, you’re insane.”

“But I’m right.”

I straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him. “I’m not sure. I think you need to show me something more.”

He grinned, flipping me onto my back and showing me a hell of a lot more than I was expecting.

* * *

“Can I ask you a personalquestion?” I asked as we finished dressing.

“Shoot.”

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but have you noticed every time we start to get personal, we have sex? I feel as though we’re not really getting to know each other on a soul level if all we do is fuck.”

“What’s wrong with fucking?” Sweet Pea challenged.

“Nothing. I love it. But I want to know you. Know what makes you tick.”

“Read the file,” he said, coldly.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?”

“Cagey about your past. I’m trying to understand you better, but I can’t do that if I don’t know anything about you.”

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “When you look back on your childhood, do you have mostly good memories?”

“Yes, of course.”

“See? You say of course, like a happy childhood is typical.”

“You don’t think that’s true?” I asked.

“Not from my experience. Most of the Saints grew up in shitty homes with parents who were in and out of jail themselves.”

“But you didn’t,” I said.

“No, but just because I grew up rich, doesn’t mean my home life was good.”

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