I then casually asked, "Which friend was it?"
It seemed like he had already prepared an answer, replying naturally, "Oh, an old childhood friend of mine. You don't know him."
I nodded, not pressing further and continued eating. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him exhale deeply, visibly relieved. I tightened my grip on the fork, feeling a dull ache as if a boulder was pressing on my chest.
Dexter could lie to me so calmly and naturally. This certainly wasn't the first time. Unfortunately, it had taken me so long to realize it.
That night, we lay in bed together. Dexter took off his glasses and leaned toward me, his intentions unmistakable.
As he wrapped his arm around me, my body involuntarily tensed up. The thought of those hands holding another woman made me feel nauseous.
When I turned my head slightly, his kiss missed its mark. He froze for a moment.
I removed his hand from my waist and closed my eyes, "I'm tired."
His expression grew complicated. Though he knew it was just an excuse, he still said gently, "Alright, I won't bother you. Get some rest."