You and Shane had been seeing each other for a few months. To everyone’s surprise — including your own — he had been a great almost-boyfriend, even though neither of you had ever said it out loud. Still, it was common knowledge. An unspoken agreement between the two of you and the rest of the world.

Shane was good at everything. Annoyingly good.

Especially at making you feel good — very good, to be honest. The kind of good that didn’t come by accident. The kind that clearly came from practice. And sometimes, that made your thoughts wander to places you didn’t really want them to go.

Who had he practiced with?

You hadn’t expected to feel so insecure about his past. Not really. But subconsciously, with every first time you shared with him, the same thought crept in: how many times had he done this before? How many other girls?

You tried not to think about it. Tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

But the truth was uncomfortable: you were the inexperienced one. And that insecurity sucked.

You were in your bed now, the room still heavy with the quiet warmth that came after. Shane had taken care of you first — cleaning up the mess, being gentle — before joining you under the covers. An arm loose around your waist.

You, however, were far too quiet.

“Hey… are you okay?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “I wasn’t too much… or did I hurt you?”

“Hm? No…” You turned to look at him. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking…” Shane murmured, brushing your hair back and tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that always caught you off guard. “Thinking about what, beautiful?”

Your chest tightened.

Maybe it was insecurity. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was fear of the answer.

But that question had been sitting there for far too long.

What was his number? And more importantly… did you really want to know?