“Cynthia?” I supplied.

He darted a look at me out of the corner of his eyes and shakily raised the glass to his lips. He appeared to take a long sniff but didn’t drink before once again lowering the glass. His eyes, glaring into the firelight, were the color of butterscotch.

“Nice girls don’t stay nice girls. They do shitty things…” he muttered. I’d heard him make similar comments before but had no idea what to make of it. I kicked off my strappy heels and leaned back on the couch, tucking my feet underneath me.

“You two must have been pretty serious. You guys have matching tattoos.”

Tense silence. More whiskey swirling. I could hear nothing but the hiss of the gas fireplace and the distant, ever-present hum of the appliances in the penthouse. It was quiet and dark except for our tiny amber bubble of light.

Jordan was the epitome of tension, his broad shoulders stiff with it. He continued to fiddle with the glass. “I have known her my entire life. We grew up together,” he began in a hushed voice. “Our parents were friends—they still are, actually. We did everything together. School. Surfing. Hanging out at the beach. Homework. Everything.” He shook his head. “We were a lot of firsts for each other—first kiss, first girlfriend, first…” His voice died out and then he shrugged. “I hadn’t seen her for years. Had a vague idea that she had moved up north somewhere.”

I cleared my throat. “What happened?”

He rolled his shoulders, as if forcing them to relax. “I asked her to marry me before I left for college. We’re the same age but I’d finished a year and a half early due to the parental homeschooling indoctrination. The old man had pushed me into that engineering program he wanted me to start so badly. Christ, I was sixteen fucking years old. What did I know? She said yes, of course, and I left her behind. Drove back to SLO every chance I got…every weekend practically. And when she started at UCLA, I was ecstatic. We were only thirty minutes away from each other.”

“Then you met someone else?”

His features chilled and slowly, deliberately he placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. His free hand clenched into a fist. “You assume it was me that cheated, hmm?”

I swallowed, my face flushing. “Oh, sorry. I thought that, given your proclivities and the text-harem…”

“That’s just great, Weiss. So because I’m the man, naturally I was the cheater.”

“Guess that was a sexist assumption on my part.”

“Yup.”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t just because you are a man. Your behavior toward her tonight was a little…I don’t know…kind of like you feel guilty.”

Those eyes found mine, the look in them so intense I found myself holding my breath. “I am—I do. I have a lot to feel guilty for when it comes to Cyndi. But I didn’t cheat on her. No, I surprised her one Friday afternoon at her dorm to take her out. Came through her door and found a tatted-up piece of shit biker dude on top of her in bed.”

“Oh, dear God,” I said, falling back against the couch. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He winced and looked away. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he sloughed off his jacket and removed his tie. “It was six years ago. Ancient history.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. I could barely take my eyes off his powerful forearms, the strong veins lining them under his skin.

“But ancient history has a way of sticking with you…coming back to haunt you.”

“Yeah?” he bit out. His voice held a bitter edge. “What would you know about it? Did your fraternity boyfriend make out with your BFF?”

“No, he didn’t, fuck you very much. He married my mother.”

He let out a long breath that evolved into a shaky laugh. But when his eyes landed on my face, he could tell I wasn’t joking. He immediately sobered. “For real?”

“It’s okay. You can laugh. I know it’s fucked up and dysfunctional. My mom loves only one person in her whole world—herself. So I’m sure Gunnar is only husband number four in a string of eight or nine, maybe even a baker’s dozen.”

He frowned. “This happened recently?”

My eyes darted away from his to fixate on the fire. “Right before Comic-Con.”

“So your cougar mom swooped in and stole your boyfriend?”

“We’d been broken up. As far as I know, he didn’t sleep with her until after I broke it off with him. She flirted with all my boyfriends, so who knows? Apparently, I bored him in bed.”