He jogged to catch up with her. “Because I don’t remember you naming names when we swapped lists.”
She laughed, incredulous. “Because you couldn’t remember half of yours, Slick .”
He gave her a nasty look. “That isn’t funny.”
“Oh, for God’s sakes,” she groaned, incapable of believing he was being serious. “You sowed enough wild oats before we were married to qualify for farm subsidies.”
A group of people milled around the entrance of the parking-deck stairwell, and Jeffrey pushed through them without a word. He opened the door, not bothering to see if Sara caught it before it closed.
“He’s married,” she told him, her voice echoing in the concrete stairwell.
“So was I,” he pointed out, something she did not think said much in his favor.
Jeffrey stopped on the first landing, waiting for her to catch up. “I dunno, Sara, I came a long way to get up here and see you holding some other guy’s hand with his kid in your lap.”
“You’re jealous?” Sara could barely manage the question around a shocked laugh. She had never known Jeffrey to be jealous of anyone, mostly because he was too egotistical to consider the idea that any woman he wanted could possibly want someone else.
He demanded, “You wanna explain this to me?”
“No, frankly,” she told him, thinking that any moment now he would say he was teasing her.
Jeffrey continued up the stairs. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
Sara climbed after him. “I don’t owe you an explanation for anything.”
“You know what?” he said, continuing up the stairs. “Blow me.”
Anger rooted Sara to the concrete. “You’ve got your head so far up your ass you can just reach around and do it yourself.”
He stood above her, looking as if she’d deceived him and he was feeling foolish. Sara could see that he was deeply hurt, which took away some of her irritation.
Sara resumed the climb toward him. “Jeff . . .”
He said nothing.
“We’re both tired,” she said, stopping on the tread just below him.
He turned, walking up the next flight, saying, “I’m back home cleaning your kitchen, and you’re up here—”
“I never asked you to clean my kitchen.”
He stopped on the landing, leaning his hands on the railing in front of one of the large glass windows that overlooked the street. Sara knew she could either stand on her principles and spend the four-hour drive back to Grant in terse silence or make the effort to soothe his hurt ego so the trip would be bearable.
She was about to give in when Jeffrey inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising. He let the breath go slowly, and she could see him calming down.