Page 142 of Savage Brothers MC: Tennessee Chapter

“A lot can mean different things to different people.”

“Okay so, how many?”I ask, looking at him.

He looks surprised, and I am too, this is not how this conversation was supposed to be going.I was supposed to be extricating myself from Noah and this house—not have a deep conversation about how many lovers came before me.

“You really want to do this now?”

“You ever hear the saying that you don’t just have sex with a man, but you have sex with every partner he ever had?”I ask him, completely serious.

“Never heard it, but then again I don’t fuck men.Which means, I might have missed that bulletin,” he says, sitting up so that he’s leaning on the headboard and pulling me so my head is on his stomach—whether that’s what I want or not evidently.

“Whatever.It just means a man has…a lot… of women then he increases his chances to catch things, which increasesmychances.Which means?—”

“Picking up what it means, Rory.Not understanding why you’re worried.We did use a rubber,” he says and now he sounds annoyed.I’m annoyed with him, so that works.It doesn’t mean I don’t miss his laugh or the way his face relaxed during said laughter.

“Condoms only work ninety-eight percent of the time,” I tell him.

“Yeah?”he asks, and now he looks like he’s fighting a smile.

“Yeah.So, that leaves two percent of the time that it doesn’t.That two percent doesn’t sound like much?—”

“It doesn’t,” he confirms.

“But say your…a lot…means a million girls.Two percent of a million is freaking scary.”

“Get your point,” he says, his eyes staring at me closely.

“So how many?”

“Don’t know,” he says, watching me closely—a bit too closely.

“You don’t know?”I gasp, not being able to wrap my head around that answer.

“Never counted, Gorgeous.I was too busy enjoying.”

“You can’t even… say… give a ballpark kind of figure?”

“I don’t see how this is important,” he grumbles and I’m trying to stop myself from yelling at him.If I do that we’ll probably wake up Ryan and I need to be out of this bed before that happens.

“It’s important,” I insist.

“Why?You don’t see me asking how many men you’ve slept with before me,” he reasons.

“Well if you did, the answer would be three.”

“Three?”he looks like he doesn’t believe me.That’s easy to understand since he has laid more women than there are orange groves in Florida.

“Three,” I confirm.“My best friend in high school?—”

“Alright Rory!”he praises—the pig.I instantly know what he’s thinking.“I didn’t know you liked?—”

“He was a man—or a boy as it were,” I tell him, ripping away any fantasy of girl on girl action he may be harboring.

“Your best friend was male?”

“Girls didn’t like me,” I tell him simply.

“They wouldn’t.”

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