Page 32 of Privileged (Adrenalin)

A shy smile spreads across his lips as he takes the seat next to me on the couch. “Are we assuming she won’t find it suspicious that you have lunch delivered at the same time you scheduled a massage?”

“Considering I grumbled to her about the lunch coming early I think I’m in the clear.” I serve him some rice and orange chicken to hide the fact that I haven’t really thought this through.

He accepts the plate I hand him with an almost demure grin. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Favorite food? I gambled that everyone likes Chinese when I ordered, but that’s probably something I should know before I invite you to lunch.” I give him a wink that has crimson flooding his cheeks as I dish myself a helping.

“Ah, speed dating.”

“What?” My hand pauses midway to my plate, a few grains of rice slipping off the spoon and onto the floor.

“You know.” He waves his fork around, stalling as he swallows a bite. “Rapid fire questions where you say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“That’s a thing?” My brows pull together.

“For busy professionals, yes. You get through an entire date in a few minutes and get some of the basic questions out of the way.”

“How do you come up with the questions?” I wipe up the spilled rice and finish dishing my own plate.

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and moves a fingertip over the screen, tossing it on the table when he’s found what he wants. “Here.” He points to a list. “Are you game?” Sloan waggles his eyebrows as he spears a piece of chicken and brings it to his mouth, lips slowly closing around the utensil in a way that has my cock lurching excitedly.Tease.

Clearing my throat, I look at the first question and read it aloud. “Favorite Color?”

“Purple. Yours?”

“Blue.”

His eyes cut to the list while I take a bite of my lunch. “Favorite food?”

“Burgers.”

“Not Filet Mignon or Beef Wellington?” The corner of his lip ticks up in a sly grin.

“Half my childhood was spent at ski training, not the Ritz.” I roll my eyes like I’m annoyed, but in reality, I like that he feels comfortable enough to joke with me. “What’s your favorite?”

“Tacos. Or burritos or enchiladas. Anything Mexican really.”

I peek at the list. “Favorite place you’ve ever been.”

“Spain.” His eyes sparkle as a wistful smile ghosts across his lips. I make a mental note to ask for more detail later. “You?”

“Switzerland.”

“Favorite sport?” Sloan asks around a mouthful of chicken. I paste a disappointed look on my face and arch an eyebrow. “Besides skiing,” he amends.

“Hockey.” Those big green eyes grow even wider. “It’s the least gentlemanly sport there is,” I answer his unspoken question.

We go back and forth for the better part of an hour, sharing ourselves piece by piece with silly questions like what’s your favoriteholiday tradition and who’s the best superhero? It’s juvenile, ridiculous, andfun. It makes me feel almost as light as his massages do, and he hasn’t even touched me.

Talking about everything and nothing reminds me of the time I spent at training camp growing up, where conversation was lighthearted and somewhat goofy. I’ve been led to believe a man should outgrow those subjects by the time he reaches his mid-twenties, but based on the smiles we’re both wearing I’m beginning to think that was bad advice. Everyone should have an opinion about the best superhero, which of course is Batman.

“There’s nothing special about Batman,” Sloan rolls his eyes as he shakes his head back and forth. “He’s just a rich guy with fancy toys…”

“Who became a superhero,” I cut him off.

“He doesn’t have any powers though. Superheroes have powers.”

“Batman’s toys give him power. Plus, he’s an average human, not some alien from another world. Kids can legitimately dream about being him one day. They can’t dream about being Superman because they weren’t born on another planet.”

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