Page 50 of The Enemy of My Enemy Is… My Fake Boyfriend?

It was easy with him. Easy to be with him. Easy to talk with him. I hadn't ever expected that, and it threw me off a bit.

Was it actually supposed to be easy with guys? I'd never experienced that before, certainly not with Chase or anyone before him, and it made me distrust it.

"So, um," I began,fidgeting with the stem of my champagne flute, not wanting to delve too deeply into my swirling thoughts, "you've been to Paris once you said, right?"

Ethan's focus shifted from his plate to my face. "Yep. Just the once. For work."

"Where else have you been?" I pressed, hoping to steer the conversation toward a more couple-y topic.

He shrugged. "All over Europe and Asia. Again. For work."

"For work. Huh."

His brows furrowed, his gaze sharpening on me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just... do you do anythingnotfor work?" I questioned him. "Like do you have any hobbies?"

"Work is my hobby," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Such a typical answer, but what could I have expected? "Work can't be your hobby."

"It is if you enjoy it," he argued. "And I do. I love it."

"So you're a workaholic."

"I wouldn't say that. I just like it."

"That's admirable then, I suppose," I conceded.

"You suppose. Okay." A small smirk pulled at the edges of his lips.

"What about motorcycles?" I asked, determined to plow forward.

"What about them?"

"I thought you'd say motorcycles were your hobby. Or maybe sports, fast cars, and women."

He chuckled softly. "You really have a great impression of me, don't you?"

"I don't know what to think of you, honestly," I confessed, swirling the champagne in my glass absently.

"What do you want to know?"

He had me stumped. What exactlydidI want to know? Now that I was on the spot I couldn't think of anything. Well, maybe one thing. Not that it really mattered since none of this was real. But I kind of did want to know because even if this was all pretend, I'd want my fake boyfriend to be good to me. Oh, God, did that even make any sense?

"Just spit it out, Stratton."

"Okay. So what I'd really like to know..." I leaned in close and so did he, only inches separating our faces. "Have you ever cheated?"

I thought he'd mock me, tease me, or at the very least laugh. But his face remained dead serious, and he didn't move even a centimeter away from me. "Never."

Only one word. But something about his tone, about the way he delivered that one word, was incredibly powerful. Maybe I was an idiot, a stupid, gullible girl to trust anything that came out of a man's mouth, but I believed him.

Still, he didn't budge, and I was the one to finally break the strange spell by sitting back in my chair, his eyes studying me, intense and scrutinizing.

"Haveyou?" he asked.

The question surprised me. Nobody had ever asked me that before. "No. Not really."

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