Page 37 of Dizzy

I perch on the edge of the bed. I aim for casual, but I’m awkward as hell. I cross my legs, but the long sweater gets twisted. It takes me a second to tug it loose and smooth things out. He tracks my movements the whole time.

“How come all your ex-wife’s clothes are still here?”

“Not all of ‘em. She lost weight before we split. She left the clothes that didn’t fit no more.”

“Why didn’t you sell ‘em on the internet?”

“Not mine to sell.”

“It doesn’t bother you, having your ex’s stuff all over the place?”

He shrugs. “I’ll get to it when I get the time.”

“Her name’s Sharon, right?”

“Yeah.”

I remember from the tattoo. “You carrying a torch for her?”

This conversation is starting to feel treacherous. I know it’s none of my business. He doesn’t know me, and besides, I’m the house mouse. Not a date.

He’s going along with it, though. And as I recross my legs so I can put my weight on my hip—and take it off my tender ass—he follows my every move.

“Nope.”

“She was really into decorating, eh?”

He chuffs a laugh. “You could say that.”

“She seems like a different sort of person than you.”

“That’s probably fair.”

“How’d you meet?”

“High school.”

“Did you go to prom together?” I wanted to go, but I couldn’t afford a ticket, and no one asked me.

“Nah. I didn’t go to prom. She did.”

“You didn’t go with her?”

“We were split up at the time.”

“On again, off again?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t volunteer much in terms of information, do you?”

“You’re real curious, ain’t you?” His eyes are twinkling.

I switch positions, kneel, take all pressure off my backside. He’s utterly focused on me. There’s a ruckus coming from the kitchen, but his gaze doesn’t leave me for a second.

“You can ask me questions if you want,” I offer.

“You wearing panties?”

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