Finally, he asked, “I can take a guess at your race, but do you happen to know what it is?”
My chin trembled with barely contained laughter. “Thank you for asking, but I only knew my name when I got to New City.”
His attention went back to the computer board. “I’m marking you down with Hispanic and Asian ancestry.” He paused and glanced up at me. “You’re really quite beautiful, Ms. Peyton.”
I did snicker then, my dark brows lifting. “Are you single, Mr. Striker?” He wasn’t a bad looking man. In fact, he was actually handsome in a refined way I hardly ever saw on the docks.
His head tipped back as his laughter filled the quiet space around us. He shook his head of tawny hair and rumbled with hilarity, “Ms. Peyton, I think we can find a better match for you than me.”
I shrugged one shoulder, not disappointed. “What’s the next question?”
Mr. Striker got back to business. “Height?”
“Five feet, six inches.”
“Weight?”
“One hundred twenty pounds.” I cleared my throat pointedly. “I assure you it’s mainly muscle.”
He snickered, but his eyes turned to the hologram between us. The screen flicked to a different page. “Okay, here are the personal questions. Do you like tall or short men?”
My brows pinched together. “Well, it doesn’t really matter to me. I just want to get along with him.”
He nodded, typing. “Muscular or thin?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Rich or poor?”
I faltered, and then stated truthfully, “Rich.”
His lips twitched, but he continued, “Do you want to be a housewife or do you want to work?”
“I think…I’d like to work.”
But just not as a fisherman for the rest of my life. That was backbreaking work. My body would wear down by the age of forty if I stayed in the sea profession.
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“I like to read?”
“Is that a question or an answer?”
“An answer,” I nodded firmly.
There wasn’t a whole lot to do when you were in the New City Orphanage. It was either get caught up in the drama that came with so many children, teens, and early adult women…or spend time by yourself. I’d rather spend time by myself than dunk my head into a silly “tragedy” that occurred every day somehow with the women I knew.
“What attribute do you notice first on men?”
“Um…their hands.” Weird, I knew that.
He cleared his throat, and then stated, “Have you had sex before?”
“Yes.” A slight blush painted my cheeks.
“Do you prefer one man or two men?”
My eyes rounded in shock. I gasped, “One.”
