Page 29 of The Proximity Factor

He chuckled.

“Okay. Next question. What is your go-to guilty pleasure? And you can’t say Pop-Tarts because I already know that one.”

“It’s not Pop-Tarts,” he said smugly. “It’s Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, but it has to be the Easter egg ones, not the trees or any other shape. They are the only ones that have the perfect ratio of peanut butter to chocolate.” It sounded like he’d thought a lot about this.

I giggled. “You’re a fascinating man.”

“I feel like you’re mocking me now.”

“Believe me, I’m not.” Honestly, I was enjoying this insight into his personality. “But, I do have to say that Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups are way better.”

He curled his lips. “Not even close.”

“You’re wrong,” I teased.

“So, is that your guilty pleasure?” he asked.

“Oh no. It’s much more dangerous and addictive.”

He quirked a brow. “How so?”

“I love raw cookie dough. I have been known to make cookies and never once turn on the oven. Sometimes I even freeze the dough to enjoy it later. The fact I haven’t gotten salmonella poisoning yet is a miracle.”

“I like raw cookie dough too,” he admitted.

“Look at that. Something we have in common. Maybe I’ll make some tonight if we survive today.”

He shot a glimpse my way with a thoughtful expression. “I’d like that.”

“Okay,” I said, shocked. “I’ll make some, then.”

Some color crept up his neck, and it got all splotchy. “Great.”

I felt like we’d just had a significant moment. Did he feel it too? We’d just agreed to share cookie dough. That was a big deal. I didn’t share my cookie dough with just anybody. Maybe there was still a chance I could save the world with this experiment. Even though I was beginning to think the experiment had more to do with intimacy and not some significant social breakthrough. Perhaps it was an important study about human intimacy. I could live with that, even though Parker and I were never getting physically intimate. Not to say I hadn’t thought about it. Anyway.

“Next question,” I rushed to say. “What is your unusual talent?”

His face turned a deep shade of red. “Who says I have one?” he stuttered.

“Your face and wobbly voice say it all. Spill the tea.”

He checked his side mirror before merging us safely onto the highway, avoiding my question.

“Come on. It can’t be as embarrassing as mine.”

“Which is?” he inquired.

“So, I have two. The first is, I can unwrap a Starburst in my mouth and leave the wrapper perfectly intact. And ... if that doesn’t impress you, get ready for this: I have a knack for picking which hue the color of the year will be. I’ve guessed it for ten years in a row now.” It just meant I was good at watching fashion and social trends. But I was still proud of it.

“Hmm,” he didn’t sound impressed at all.

“Okay, apparently I have failed to wow you, even though my friends all find my talents quite amazing.” Not to mention, every guy I’ve dated appreciated the wonders of my tongue’s skills. But Parker didn’t need to know that.

“I’m mildly impressed,” he admitted.

“I don’t believe you. Anyway, what’s your unusual talent?”

He let out a heavy, annoyed breath. “Fine,” he gave in, “but I don’t want to spread this around. Not even Daphne knows this. But people sometimes hire me to be their Dungeon Master in Dungeons and Dragons,” he muttered. “I’m a pro at writing stories and narrating the game. I even use different character voices.”

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