"Sex is important to me." He said it the way he'd saythe earth is round. "Physical intimacy in a committed relationship builds emotional security. It's not separate from the other stuff. It's part of it."
Emmy stared at the questionnaire. Her pen wasn't moving.
"Your turn," Grant said.
"Five," Emmy said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Five."
"It's important, obviously, but it's not—I mean, there are other things that matter more. Emotional connection. Shared values. Communication."
"Uh-huh." Grant's expression said he didn't believe her for a second. "We'll come back to that."
"We will not?—"
"Next question."
Emmy huffed but looked at the paper. "Do you prefer to initiate or be pursued?"
"Both." Grant stretched his arm along the back of the couch, casual, but his eyes never left hers. "I like knowing someone wants me enough to show it. I like showing them the same." He paused. "But there are few things hotter than a woman who goes after what she wants."
Emmy wrote something on the questionnaire. She had no idea what. Her handwriting was probably illegible.
"Your turn."
"I don't—" She shook her head. "I've never really thought about it."
"Liar."
"Fine." The word came out sharper than she intended. "Pursued. At first. Until I trust them. Then... both."
Grant nodded slowly. His eyes held hers a beat longer than the question required, and Emmy's face burned.
"How do you communicate about intimacy?" She read the next question fast, trying to regain professional footing on a floor that kept tilting. "Direct conversation? Nonverbal cues?"
"Direct. Always." Grant's voice was firm. "Guessing games are exhausting. But it's also nice to be known well enough that not everything needs to be spelled out."
"Agreed," Emmy said, and their eyes met, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
She cleared her throat. "Physical affection outside the bedroom. PDA comfort level."
"In public? Minimal." Grant shrugged. "That's private. If nobody knew who I was, it would be a lot harder to keep my hands to myself. But I've learned to be careful."
The image arrived uninvited—Grant's hands, the size of them, the controlled strength she'd felt when he'd corrected her grip during the tennis lesson. His chest against her back. His voice low in her ear.
She stared at the questionnaire so hard the words swam.
"Okay. Next." Wrong register. Too bright. She pushed through it. "On a scale of traditional to adventurous, how would you describe your preferences?"
Emmy smoothed the blanket over her knees. A habit. Not a tell.
"Define adventurous."
"I don't—that's not—" Emmy gestured vaguely with the pen. "It's a spectrum. Traditional being, you know, standard. Adventurous being more... experimental."
"Experimental how?"
He was doing this on purpose. She could see it in the slight curve of his mouth, the way he was watching her squirm like it was the best entertainment he'd had all week.
