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Summary
He knew he had no right to be upset. El was a grown woman, twenty-three years old, and the time apart had done her well, if you asked him. And she had spent so much time alone. It would be wrong to expect her to deny herself pleasure and intimacy—something she so deeply craved—hoping that something, someone, could fill the Mike-shaped hole in her heart.
It was all fair, and despite the jealousy simmering in his blood, he understood.
But male ego was a fragile, fragile thing.
Because if Mike wasn’t her first, then he had to be her best.