“An idiot,” I finish. “You’re an idiot.”

“That’s not a secret.”

“Are you kidding me?” I slam my hand down on the couch pillow. “That was a great secret.”

“It’s really sad if that is your best secret. Seriously. Tell me you have an orgy you’re hiding behind that blush.”

“Ew.” I shudder. “No.” I lift my chin and stare at him. “And don’t belittle it. Just because I’m not a Trey-Marks-worthy-slut, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a big deal to me.”

“Oh, you’re Trey-Marks-worthy.” He grins, and we are back to that place, the one where he flirts, and I deflect, and later that night I spend twenty minutes with my vibrator.

“But not a slut.”

He tilts his head as if considering the possibility. “In my mind, you are wildly promiscuous once out of those clothes.”

“You’re trying to distract me from my question.”

“Oh yes. The dreaded question. Am I required to tell the truth?”

I give him a look, and he chuckles. “Fine. Go forth with this mysterious question.”

“Who was that girl who mugged you? Why was she meeting you there?”

He grimaces, and I can tell he had forgotten that night, forgotten my tentative questions he had evaded. Back then, I hadn’t felt comfortable enough to push for the truth, and had never brought it up again. But now, he has to tell me.

“That’s not what you want to ask, Kate. Ask me something else.”

“No,” I insist. “This is what I want. I told you my embarrassing secret. You tell me this.”

“I can’t believe you even remember that.”

“My boss stepped into my car in a bathrobe,” I say dryly. “Your dick was practically hanging out of it.”

Any other moment, he’d laugh. Now, he just runs his palms over his face. “Come on.”

I wait, and he looks at me, his face so filled with dejection that I almost drop it all. I almost give him a free pass.

But I don’t. I hold his eyes and wait for him to start.

“The woman in the hotel room…” he pauses. “She wasn’t alone. A man was with her. I had scheduled to meet both of them.” He looks up at me. “For sex.”

I attempt to school my features, to contain the thoughts that come. “Both of them?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to fuck him; it wasn’t about that. Both of us were going to please her.”

“At the same time?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Possibly. Depending on how it went. Sometimes they just like to watch.”

Sometimes they just like to watch. Will I ever forget how that sounds, the easy way it rolls off his tongue? I suddenly feel dirty, my desire to exit this conversation as strong as it had been to start it. This isn’t what I wanted to hear. This isn’t what I wanted to envision, not from him. I’ve known that Trey Marks has an active sex life. I’ve heard rumors, seen Mira and Chelsea, certainly never expected celibacy. But I also never expected this. Sometimes they just like to watch. My hands feel clammy, and I pinch the underside of my wrist in an attempt to fend off a sudden wave of lightheadedness.

“Kate?” He’s watching me, and I look away, trying to hide my disgust. I run my fingers through my hair, everything suddenly hot. He swears and pushes off the wall, coming toward my chair. “Talk to me.”

“Just a sec.” I try to cough, to clear my throat and speak, but something like a sob comes out. I press my fingers to the edge of my eyes, attempting to stop the weak leak of tears. I regain some control and straighten, inhaling a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” I exhale and feel a semblance of control. “I’m just emotional today. I don’t know why I reacted that way.”

But I do. This is major. Maybe this is the real reason why Trey has never moved past casual flirtation with me. Because he likes that, which I will never do. Sometimes they just like to watch. I meet his eyes, and the emotions in them are a combination I’ve never seen from him. Embarrassment. Sadness. Fear. He reaches for me and I flinch. He stops and stands, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning away, toward the window.

“So that’s why you didn’t know her. Or them,” I correct. “They were just some random people off … like Craigslist?” This is getting worse by the minute.

He doesn’t turn to face me. “Christ, Kate. I’m not meeting people off Craigslist. I’m part of a club, one that pairs like-minded people and couples. There’s a website where profiles are listed. I was in a bad mood that day and went off the rails, taking a risk on a new profile. It was a mistake, one that burned me.” I can see the tension in his shoulders, the rigidity of his stance.

A club. Probably an expensive one, as if a membership fee and fancy website make it any less sleazy. Sometimes they just like to watch. I should leave. Walk away from this conversation, cross Trey Marks off of my heart forever, and move on. Never mind that I’ve spent almost three years pining over him. Never mind that when he breathes, I can feel it in my heart. He should have told me this. He should have told me this years ago, before I fell in love with him, before he injected his soul into my veins and I became addicted. Can I even work for him after this? Can I be around him without falling deeper in love? Before, I always thought there would be a time—once the company is kicking ass, once he is ready to step away from management and retire—when we would be able to date, when we could try a relationship. But now, with my one stupid question, with his one stupid confession, it all dies. I can’t date a man who—I don’t even understand what he does. I rub my temple. “Tell me exactly what happens.”

“Kate.” Just a single syllable, but I can hear so much in it. He turns away from the window and rests his back against the glass, his face hanging, as if he is a child being punished.

“Tell me Trey.” I wait. “I need to know.” I have to know how bad it is. He won’t lie to me. He won’t sugarcoat it.

“I enjoy pleasing women.” His eyes lift and meet mine. “So that’s what I do. With my hands and my mouth, and my cock. Sometimes the guy joins in, sometimes he doesn’t.”

“’Joins in.’ Define it.” My mouth is cottony. I swallow. It doesn’t help.

“Sometimes double-penetration. Sometimes she sucks him while I fuck her. Or she jacks us both off at the same time.”

“But you’re not gay.”

“No.” He holds my eyes. “I’m definitely not gay.”

Little difference that makes right now. I want to close my eyes, to look away, to yank at my hair and scream at him. I don’t. I wait, and it’s almost painful to do so.

“The woman is always the focus. That’s the extent of my interaction with the men.”

“Oh, that’s it?” I laugh, a hard hack of a sound, one I’ve never heard from myself before, one that I instantly hate. His eyes harden, but he says nothing.

In that silence, I almost hear our future crackle and burn.

Him

I’ve lost her. I can see it in her eyes, in the tremble of her voice, in the questions that she asks. Maybe I should have lied. Maybe I should have muted the truth. Maybe then, she wouldn’t be looking at me as if I am a monster, as if we don’t have years between us, as if she doesn’t love me at all.

I can’t be surprised, not after that conversation so long ago, over beers and burgers, the disgusted look on her face when she told me about the threesome that her boyfriend had tried to have.

“Just because you don’t understand it,” I say, “don’t judge me for it. We are all aroused in different ways. This is something I’ve done, something I liked.”

She looks down, as if searching for a response. When she finally lifts her head, she blinks quickly, her face growing red. This stupid thing of mine is bringing her to tears. “You should have told me,” she says tightly. “This changes everything between us.”

The words are a hammer to the center of my chest. In them, there is everything that we’ve never said aloud, never put anywhere close to words. Is there an “us”? Us is more than I’ve ever hoped for. Between the risk to the company, and my sexual past, I’ve spent years avoiding any thought of Us. I always understood that we would, at some point, come to this. Her glaring at me, distrust thick in her eyes. Her flinching when I reach out to touch her.