Faking It to Making It

“You refused to let me pay.”

“I’m not most women.”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“Here.” She dug through the pile on her left, found the legal pad dedicated to that job, and threw it to him.

He moved the chair closer. Close enough that when she next swung back her knee brushed his. Thick wool rasped against old denim and the friction shot through her as if she’d been hit with a cattle prod.

His eyes widened as he flipped page after page of the questions she’d come up with in her research. Some of them she’d already put into a survey she’d added to the Dating By Numbers website, and given to a handful of online magazines—men’s and women’s. Others were just of interest to her.

She glanced down at the pages, reading words such as sex, love, lies, oral, psycho killer, back-up plan. She slowly slid a pen towards Nate. “It’s the intimate details that lift a piece from dry statistical analysis to something that resonates with people. So if you have anything you’d like to add—thoughts, experiences, anything—feel free. Start simple. Like, are you a leg man?”

Nate’s face began to turn green.

“Eyes, then? Hair? Little toes? If you picked me, clearly it’s not about chest inches. Or is it something more intangible? Something chemical?”

His eyes shot back to hers at that, so blue, so quick, so effortlessly seductive, and she could have kicked herself for getting cocky.

He put the notepad back onto her desk, holding her gaze the whole time. “You really want to know what I like?”

She did. She really did. “Hit me.”

“I like drinks—casual, no promises. I like parties—more people to talk to if talking to her is like pulling teeth. I like night time—it has a built-in end point.”

“Wow. That all sounds so...hopeless.”

“You asked,” he said, grabbing a box of paperclips and shaking it by his ear as he leant back, his knees pressing deeper under her desk, crowding her, leaving her nowhere to move.

“Yeah,” she said, tucking herself into a tighter ball on her chair, “I did.” Then a thought. “Okay, then, what are you hoping for when you meet a woman? And I don’t mean the ‘built-in-end-point.’ I mean ultimately.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. So many walls, she thought, wondering how he managed to connect beyond superficially with any member of the human race. The guy needed more than ruffling. He needed disentangling.

“Is this going to end up in your piece?”

She thought about it, and then shook her head. “I want to know.”

“Why?”

She threw out her hands, her feet collapsing to the ground so that her knees bumped against his. “Because it’s the human condition, Nate. Biological imperative. Haven’t you ever had the urge to clobber some woman over the head and brand her as yours?”

Seeing the darkness in his eyes, she was pretty sure he was allowing himself a moment to imagine how his life might be better off if he clobbered her over the head.

He leant forward and put the paperclips back on the desk, then rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze settling at some point in the middle distance. He said, “This isn’t for the piece. This is just for you.”

She nodded. Swallowed. Gripped her mouse for support.

“After my father died I spent six long years of my life looking after the whims and needs of four very emotional, very demanding, very much loved women—and it near wiped me out. I’ve done my time on that score. I have no desire to ‘settle down.’ To marry. To ‘make a life with someone.’ Whatever you want to call it. I like women. Adore many. Love a handful. But I like my independence more. Ultimately I will protect it with my dying breath. How’s that?”

“Thank you,” she said, even as his words felt like little needles all over her skin.

“Your turn. Why do you care so much about what I want?” he asked, his long fingers tapping a soft beat on the table, his blue eyes roving over her face.

“That’s not how this works.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“You think you’re the boss in this scenario?”

“I’m the boss in every scenario.”

His grin showed teeth, straight and many, and that rare and delightful dimple. “Well, sweetheart, in my world so am I. So what are we going to do about it?”

She had to swallow before she could get a word out. “I think you’re a good guy, Nate. But when it comes to relationships you’re screwed in the head. I think I can help.”

“I’m beyond help. Do you want to know what I need?”