I frowned at him. “Where did you get that?”

He suddenly became aware of the giant pile that Wayland had created. Passing me the leash, he took the bags and doubled them up. “It just seems like you’re good again.”

“Bullshit.” I followed him, tugging on Wayland’s leash to keep him out of the street, and pulverized a daisy head in my distracted journey. “Did you talk to him?”

“I talk to him all the time. He mentioned you spoke. Nothing to freak out about.”

“I don’t like you guys talking about me. Especially not with all of…” My blood chilled. “You didn’t tell him about the other night, right? The role-play thingy we did?”

“No.” Easton squatted beside the pile and carefully worked it into the bag, somehow staying spotless through the process. “But—”

I waited.

He brushed the back of his forearm across his forehead, then jerked the bag handles up and tied them in a note.

“But what?”

“He felt like shit about the whole voyeurism thing, so I told him not to worry about it. I told him you liked it.” The final sentence was softer than the first, tossed over his shoulder as if it was superstitious salt, and then run from—his long legs clipping toward the trash can at the end of the driveway.

I stood in place, my hands crossed over my chest, and waited for him to return, doing an emergency sweep of the street for anything big and brutal enough to kill him with. Unless I was going to rip a mailbox out of the ground bare-handed, I was out of luck. When he came back, his gaze studiously locked on Wayland, I spoke. “You told him I liked it? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What? You did like it!” His attention cut to me and carried a flash of the careless attitude that typically drenched my panties.

“And sometimes you like to fuck me in schoolgirl outfits, but I don’t run down and tell the local fucking nuns,” I countered. “I can’t—I won’t—be honest with you if I can’t trust you. That wasn’t your information to tell, it was mine.”

“But you wouldn’t have told him.”

I sputtered. “I didn’t need to tell him! Why the fuck would I tell him?!”

“To see how he reacted.” Something came over his face then, a knowing cocky grin that made me want to slap him across the cheek and then straddle the resulting mark. He had something. A card up his sleeve. Something that tilted this playing field.

“And?” I couldn’t help it. I literally couldn’t contain the word.

He shrugged. “I shouldn’t be talking about it. As you just pointed out, this isn’t my stuff to tell. If you want to know, talk to Aaron.”

I tackled him in his backward step, my leg hooking around his knee at the same time that I collided with his shoulders. He went down, Wayland lunged for us, and I landed a solid punch to his solar plexus before Wayland was on top of me, his nails digging into my left thigh, his back beginning to curve as he started doing the worst possible thing, short of me getting into a physical altercation in the middle of our hoity-toity neighborhood.

He started to hump me.

“Wayland!” I shrieked, hitting his chest with my hand. “Get off! Down!” I found the cord of his leash and yanked. He started to pant. My husband, who had worked his way up to his elbows, one hand pressed against the center of his abdomen, started to laugh. I rolled right, and was almost on top of the poop spot when I realized my error and went left. Wayland scrambled to follow, and I screamed as one of his paws pistoned into my cheek.

“Wayland,” Easton spoke in the calm voice of someone who wasn’t inches from excrement-smeared grass. “Stop.” He found the end of the leash and pulled, dragging Wayland off of me.

I took a deep breath and sat up, dusting off the dirt from his paws. My knit top was, without a doubt, ruined. “Stop playing games with me and just tell me exactly what your conversation with Aaron was.”

He crouched and held out his hand, helping me to my feet. “I told him to stop worrying about it. That you had a bit of a voyeuristic streak and that it had turned you on.”

I dug my nails into the back of his hands as I pulled upright. “And?”

“And he said…” he took a moment to place the right words. “He said “interesting”.”

“That was the big smirk you gave me? Because he said interesting?”

“Look, I really don’t want to rehash our entire conversation. It was personal shit. All you need to know is that he’s absolutely fine with you being fine with him seeing us.” He grinned at me.

“Uh-uh. No. I need you to rehash the entire conversation, especially considering that it was about me.”

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