“I like that. Put it in bold.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll end up in the category ‘Faithful and Unbearable’.”
He laughs softly, his head slightly tilted, as if he’s studying me. “I like it when you’re snarky. It lights up your eyes.”
“It’s the reflection of my patience running out.”
I try to return to work mode, but it’s not easy.
He licks his lips. I don’t think he’s doing it to annoy or provoke me this time. He does it naturally.
A shiver runs down my spine.
To cover the chemical disaster unfolding inside me, I stand up and walk toward the cabinet next to the window.
I have to do something. Move, definitely not stay seated behind that desk.
The office suddenly feels smaller.
But I can’t bail either, so I inhale and approach the desk again, determined to regain control.
Okay, maybe standing up works.Inhale.
I force myself to continue with the questions.
“Alright. Do you like sporty, active women? Or do you prefer someone quieter?”
“I like the ones who know what they want.”
“And do you know?”
“Now I do.”
The way he says it forces me to look at him.
Mistake.
Because Cohen Becker never looks innocently.
His gaze strips you bare, stripping away roles, defenses, excuses.
“Good,” I murmur, too quickly. “I’ll mark ‘determined and direct’.”
“Put down ‘terribly attracted to his matchmaker’ too.”
I look up from the tablet. “Hilarious.”
“Mark that down too.”
“What?”
“That I’m witty. Women love guys with a sense of humor.”
“Women also love cooperative men, but I don’t see one here.”
I press on, just to keep from yelling at him. “Okay, new question: how much do you think a kiss means in a relationship?”
I slowly look up from the tablet.
