“Alright,” I say, trying to adopt the neutral tone of someone who isnotmentally replaying a scene that should’ve stayed buried. “As I was saying, today we’re starting the baseline evaluation to determine your relational profile.”
He lifts one eyebrow. Barely.
“So,” I continue, flipping through the form as if my palms aren’t sweating, “let’s see. Age: twenty-seven. Occupation: professional athlete. Relationship status: single… at least officially.”
“Officially, yeah,” he says, voice rough and lazy, always a few shades deeper than it has any right to be.
“Perfect,” I murmur, ignoring the heat climbing into my ears. “Let’s start with something simple. Would you say you’re more introverted or extroverted?”
“Depends on who I’m looking at.”
“Great. Evasive. I’ll note that.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Are you actually writing down ‘evasive’?”
“I’m writing down ‘uncooperative.’”
“Mmh. I prefer ‘dangerously interesting.’”
I refuse to look at him. I can’t.
Because if I do, I’ll see that half-smile that existssolelyto derail me.
“Oh. So cooperating means answering stupid questions like ‘What kind of women do you like?’” he adds.
He’s impossibly irritating. And arrogant. And disrespectful. And unbearable.
And sexy…
No. Absolutely not.
“More or less,” I say tightly.
“Great. Then put down ‘the kind with wings.’”
My pen freezes mid-stroke.
He watches me.
He smiles. Damn it—I didn’t want to look.
But of course I did.
That smile…
“Alright,” I continue, pretending I didn’t hear that, “let’s talk about your relationship habits. Would you consider yourself loyal?”
He doesn’t hesitate—not even a heartbeat. His expression turns dead serious. “Absolutely.”
I think I just stepped on some kind of land mine.
I swallow. Focus, Sloane.
No, donotlook at his arms—
Too late.
“Great. And when was your last serious relationship?”
