Perfect Strangers

“Good. So you’ll want to know about the water competency, then.”

“Yes.”

“Were you thinking I’m secretly a Navy SEAL, something along those lines?”

I consider it. “Not really, but now that you mention it, you do seem as if you could’ve had some formal military training.”

He gazes down at me with arched brows. “Really? How so?”

“You’re very…alpha.”

He bursts out laughing. “Alpha?”

I say sourly, “As opposed to beta, yes.”

“Is this how all feminists think of men? In terms of Greek letters?”

I roll my eyes at that. “Not alpha like the Greek letter, alpha like the wolf. The leader of the pack. The strongest one who protects all the others.”

His laughter slowly dies until he’s staring at me with his signature intensity and blistering focus.

I say, “I can see the gears turning.”

“I’m only giving you one free pass.”

“I’m not asking, I’m just saying.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Doesn’t matter. Back to the water competency question. Spill.”

James gazes at me. The silence grows until it becomes unbearable. My mind crackles with a million different theories, each more implausible than the last, everything from him once being a movie stuntman to a water boarding expert, interrogating enemy combatants in a filthy Guantanamo Bay prison cell.

When he finally answers, his tone is matter-of-fact. “Growing up, I was the lifeguard at our community pool.”

My disappointment is crushing. “Oh.”

Seeing how crestfallen I am at hearing his simple explanation, he starts to laugh again, only this time he can’t stop.

I pound a fist on his chest. “Shut up, you jerk!”

He drags me on top of his body and laughs and laughs, his head tipped back into the pillow and his eyes closed, arms tight around me so I can’t escape, even as I squirm and struggle.

“You should’ve seen your face!” He hoots. The entire bed shakes with his laughter. “You looked like someone just told you Christmas was cancelled!”

“Ha ha,” I say drily. “Laugh it up, lover boy, because the next time you fall asleep and you’re gently snoring, I’m going to sneak into your apartment and drop a worm into your open mouth. You won’t be laughing then.”

James abruptly stops laughing and looks at me. “Worms get a bad rap. They’re highly nutritious and actually don’t taste so bad, once you get used to the texture.”

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open until he dissolves into gales of laughter once more.

I sigh in disgust, rest my head on his broad chest, and wait for him to get it out of his system.

“God, you’re so fucking adorable.” He peppers kisses all over the top of my head.

Glaring at the dresser across the room, I say, “Glad you find me so amusing. Maybe I’ve got a future in stand up comedy.”

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, his tongue searching my mouth. When he pulls away and speaks, his voice has gone husky and his eyes have grown hot. “Yes, I find you amusing. Amusing and addicting and fascinating and so goddamn sexy I could spend an entire lifetime with you and never get my fill.”

Shaken by the intensity and unexpected pleasure of his words, by the rule-breaking honesty of them—and especially by the mention of ‘an entire lifetime’—I have trouble drawing a full breath. In a small, strangled voice, I say, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns me a smile. He whispers, “You know, for such a badass brilliant writer, you get awfully tongue-tied when someone gives you a compliment.”

“Writing is different than speaking. It’s much harder to be coherent out loud than it is on paper.”

He gazes at me thoughtfully, stroking his thumbs over my cheeks. “Write it down for me, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean instead of a smartass response to what I said, write down what you really felt.”

I stare at him, alarmed, my eyes growing wide. “But…we’re not getting personal.”

His blue eyes lock onto mine with the force of a gravitational field. He says gruffly, “You’re too smart to believe that.”

“James—”

He flips me over and rolls on top of me, so quickly I let out a startled peep. Then, with his fingertips gripping my scalp and his eyes blazing blue fire, he says, “You said you didn’t want me to ask you any personal questions, and I’m trying to respect that. I’m trying to respect that, for whatever reason, you don’t want me to get close.”

My heart bangs around wildly inside my chest. “The reason is that I’m leaving the country at the end of the summer.”

“No, it’s not,” comes the hard and fast response. “The real reason is because you’re afraid.”

“You’re conveniently forgetting your cryptic statement about how it wouldn’t be good for me to belong to you. And your sudden, unexplained disappearance during dinner, and how you said you’re fucked up. And let’s not forget about your abnormal obsession with death. Is all that supposed to make me feel secure about opening up?”

“I never said I was obsessed with death,” he says, teeth gritted.

My reply is icy. “Tell the truth now, James.”