Page 56 of Between the Lines

I hit send and let the phone fall from my hand, disappearing among the pillows and the fluffy comforter on this comfortablebed. The space smells faintly like citrus from a built-in scent diffuser, and even though I’m bone-tired, I lie awake waiting for the buzz of my phone.

It only takes a few minutes.

And now you’re writing a memoir to inflate his ego even further? Doesn’t sound like a good idea, Chaos. You should get out of the big city. Being in the outback looked really good on you.

It takes only a second before another message appears beneath.

I tried calling several times.

Oh.

My heart pounds, and my fingers fly over the phone.

Funny, a big ego is something else you have in common with the corporate dick I’m working with. I’ve told him off about it before, but he just seems to laugh it off.

Maybe I just want you to tell me off more often. Maybe I enjoy it.

Enjoying conflict feels like such a masculine thing.

Conflict? We’re not fighting, Chaos. We’re arguing. Consider it foreplay.

It’s absolutely not foreplay.

No, I suppose it’s not, considering I didn’t contact you until after we started working together. That’s a shame.

It’s for the best. It’s not like we’re each other’s types, anyway.

What is your type?

I’ll tell you my type if you tell me yours.

I hit send before considering my decision. The room is perfectly quiet, save for the soft sound of a working AC; the only light is the soft bluish shine of my phone screen.

I wonder if Aiden’s in his bed, too. Just down the hall. Or maybe he’s working. Laptop open, always available.

The first time I was in LA, it was for Titan Media’s premier party forThe Gamble. This time, I’m with Titan Media’s CEO.

The irony is not lost on me.

My type? Smart, funny, ambitious. Doesn’t matter if she’s a hiker out in Utah or a bestselling author.

A woman’s career is unimportant to you?

That’s not what I said. As long as she’s passionate about it, I can get on board. So. Your type?

I dig my teeth into my lower lip. This entire conversation feels too close to flirting and yet… He’s giving me something. I haven’t asked him about his dating habits yet, but it’s a key puzzle piece to explain the man himself. And, I know I’ll need to broach the subject eventually.

He’s giving me a way in.

But for every nugget of information I get, I’ll have to volunteer something personal in exchange.

I don’t really have a type. But yeah, I like men with unusual jobs or passions. It’s attractive if they work with their hands. Most of all, they have to be interesting.

Course they do. You like puzzles. And you wouldn’t respect a pushover.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is what he does. He gets under my skin, perceives all the things I don’t say out loud and rarely even think about. I know it’s wrong to not like the good guys. The kind guys. The ones with soft voices and softer touches.

But in the decade since Blake, since my humiliation and losing my virginity in a public spectacle, I’ve only been on a few first dates with the good guys. Those with the kind eyes that speak of a long-term relationship and commitment and safety.

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