“So?” I ask, with a half-smile. “What’s the program? Do you teach me how to keep the napkin on my lap or how to fake interest when a girl talks to me about astrology?”
“And you teach me how to avoid strangling a client? Or how to bury a body without getting caught?” she counters, icy.
Perfect.
She’s perfect when she pretends she doesn’t want to slap me.
She sighs. Making her sigh like that is my favorite sport.
Then she straightens up and opens her folder. “Good. I remind you that the purpose of this exercise is to test your listening and interaction skills. Pretend you’re having dinner with a woman, try to get to know her, be kind, relaxed, and…”
“Charming?” I try to anticipate her answer with a small grin.
“Less Cohen Becker.” She rolls her eyes at the ceiling.
“I’m just telling the truth. Lies aren’t sexy.”
“Neither is your arrogance.”
“Apparently not enough to make you stop staring at me.”
Yes, Sloane, I noticed you can’t take your eyes off me either.
The way she blushes is almost imperceptible, but I see it. Then she’s all serious and professional again.
“It’s a date simulation,” she continues. “The goal is to assess your listening, empathy, and communication skills. I will play a candidate on a first date. You… behave like a normal person.”
I hate how quickly she composes herself. I hate her self-control.
Let’s see if I can make her lose it…
“Oh, I like role-playing.”
I swear I almost burst out laughing in her face seeing her expression. I can read it clearly: amusement and interest, mixed with a very real urge to torture me and then kill me.
She arranges the notebook next to the glass of water.
I look at her, then look away because my thoughts are definitely not chaste.
I want to taste her again and again…
I compose myself in the chair. I lower my voice. “Let’s restart. Nice to meet you, I’m Cohen. I’m in rehab… for my personality.”
A wrinkle softens between her eyebrows. “That was almost nice.”
“I’m making progress. Don’t get used to it.”
She wets her lips absentmindedly and adjusts her pen. That tiny movement short-circuits my brain.
Those lips…
“I’ll start over. What do you like to do when you’re not playing?”
I blink to focus on what she just said.
“Running by the lake at dawn. There’s… peace, quiet. No one talks, no one watches what I do. The cold in my hands puts me back in order.”
Sloane tilts her head, surprised.
