It didn't seem fair that Lyra was apparently getting upset with him. Even if he had slept with her a while back at a party, it wasn't like it had ever been more than a random drunken hookup. He'd had more of those than he should admit before he'd reconnected with Les, and he didn't miss living that way at all.
He didn't want Les to leave without him, and when she excused herself to the loo, he worried she was doing just that. His wife was a sensitive woman, and he loved that about her, but they'd just sorted things out again, and he wanted to scream about this newest wrench being thrown into their relationship.
Miguel stood up, looking closer at Lyra again, once Les ran off. "I'm not sure we're staying. And I really am sorry. You look familiar, but I don't remember you." He didn't want to ask why she remembered him so well, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "How can you be so sure it was me?" He wasn't calling her a slut--he really wasn't that sort of guy--but if she'd been as drunk as she'd implied, wasn't it possible she was remembering wrong?