“No, I’m not.” Then, I mumbled, “At the moment.” I realized my mistake when he shoved back from the counter, spun around to pace and roared, “She says at the moment. Fuck!” Then his hands were pulling his hair up. “How many times?” I slumped against the counter. “Jax, really?” He whipped back around to pace up to me again. “Yes, really.” “Does it matter?” I whispered. He touched his forehead to mine and searched my eyes as if he could gaze the answer out of me. “Yes, baby, it matters.” “Why?” “Because I need to know how long it's going to take me to erase every time you were with him from your
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