Page 29 of The Frog Prince

“Tell me about your ex,” he says. “What’s his name?”

“Jean-Marc.”

“Jean-Marc? What was he? French?”

“Yes.”

“Meet him in France?”

“No.” I don’t want to get into details, not with Tom. When I don’t say anything else, Tom looks at me quizzically. “Are you still in love with him?”

“No.”

“I think you are.”

“No.”

“You sound hung up on him.”

How would he know? I look at Tom, his face lit by the blue dashboard lights, and I wonder at his audacity, or what he calls confidence. I couldn’t ever be like him. Couldn’t force my opinions on people.

“Why didn’t it work out?” Tom persists. “Did he cheat on you?”

“No.”

“So he didn’t have an affair?”

“No.” My hands are clenched; I feel so tight and tense on the inside, I can hardly breathe.

“Most men can’t stay faithful. They’re dogs,” Tom adds helpfully.

“Areyou?”

“No. I’m one of the good ones.”

God help us women.

For a moment the car is silent except for the longing and craving coming out of the stereo. Then Tom clears his throat. “What made him so special, this Jean-Luc—”

“Jean-Marc.”

“Whatever.” He pulls up in front of my house, turns to face me, waits for an answer.

I want to tell him that “whatever” is rude and that I find him incredibly boorish and that even Jean-Marc had impeccable manners. But I don’t. I hug the car door instead, fingers inching toward the lock. “I don’t know.”

“Was he gay?”

God, I hate Tom. “No.”

“You’re sure? Did you have sex?”

That pretty much does it for me. I fling my door open, and Tom is quickly coming around his side of the car, but before his lips can get anywhere near my face again, I’m running up the front steps, waving and shouting good-bye.

Tom shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “I’ll call you.”

The horrible thing is, I think he means it.

ChapterSix