Page 65 of Mensa's Match

Mensa’s head reared back. “Really? I’d think those Cricut machines have hurt Nadia’s business.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, for the smaller orders, but you’d be surprised how many orders she gets for jerseys, t-shirts, and the like.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

Mensa finished his chicken. “How many?”

My brows drew together. “How many what?”

He drank some wine. “How many kids do you want?”

A bizarre, but enjoyable, thrill shot through me at his question. Nobody else had bothered to ask me that.

“Two, but I’m not opposed to three if the timing’s right and all goes well.”

The way he nodded, I suspected he approved.

The ensuing silence between us felt comfortable… even normal.

Finally, I said, “You look like you approve of my answer.”

His head tilted for a moment. “Yeah. If I settled down, that would be what I’d want too.”

Ifhe settled down.

There it was.

In a playful tone, I said, “But you aren’t settling down any time soon, I take it.”

His eyes locked with mine. “I didn’t say that. You don’t normally put words in my mouth. Don’t start now.”

“I was only trying to lighten the conversation, but that’s fair.”

He stared at me for another moment. “This keeps on, I don’t know if I could handle two of you.”

I laughed. “Works both ways, Mensa.”

He stood and picked up his plate. “So, how many more?”

I aimed some side-eye at him. “More? I told you three.”

He chuckled. “I meant boxes. How many more have you got to pack? Are you aiming to head back tomorrow or the next day?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Definitely the next day. I have to handle some things tomorrow, like arranging a moving truck with a car trailer.”

His focus shifted to my neck. “And it’s stressing you out?”

“A bit. I’ll be—”

He set his dish on the breakfast bar and stalked back to me. “Nope. Don’t say you’ll be fine. I’ll give you an orgasm or two, andthenyou’ll be fine.”

I stood and grinned at him. “Pretty sure I’ll be better than just fine.”

“Damn straight.”

I started my Friday by having a ninety-minute, heated conversation with the office manager. Thankfully, I’d had the presence of mind to take a copy of my original lease with me and I had already highlighted the language waiving the penalty for breaking my lease. Still, this woman tried to argue that the FBI clause in my lease wasn’t binding since I didn’t have any of my credentials on me. It wasn’t until I repeatedly pointed out where her manager had initialed the changes that she finally relented.

Not the best start to my day.