"Okay, sure, that's fine of course. So no work talk. For either of us, I guess. So whatdoyou want to talk about then?"
"You."
Damn. The way he said that in such a low, gravelly voice sent a zing straight between my legs. "Me?" I breathed out. "What about me?"
"Everything. I already know your favorite color and favorite foods, so maybe more personal this round. Like do you have roommates? Do you have a best friend? When was your last boyfriend?"
"Oh, um, well, no, yes, and quite a few years ago."
He let out a laugh. "So no to a roommate, and yes to a best friend? Who is she? Or he?" he added.
"Theyare my sisters." And my old best friend from high school, but I didn't feel like I could tell him that. And my assistant. But did that really count? Someone I paid to help me?
"Ah, I see. And you haven't had a boyfriend in a few years?"
Why did I feel like that was the answer he really wanted to know? Which was good. Exactly the kind of interest I was going for.
"It's been a while," I admitted. There was no way in hell I was going to tell him that I'd never had a real boyfriend, none since college, if those brief flings even counted. "What about you?"
"Honestly? I've never had a real girlfriend before."
He was joking. Or lying. Because there was no way.
I racked my brain thinking back over the years since I'd graduated from high school. I'd seen the occasional photo of Tristan at some event with a woman on his arm, but not that many actually. Maybe just one or two, come to think of it.
But there had to be a hundred more. He was exactly the type to have a different girl every week. Which kind of explained not having a real girlfriend before.
"You haven't?" I asked.
"No, I haven't. After everything I witnessed with my parents, I swore I'd never get attached to anyone. No girlfriends. No marriage. No kids. No mess."
Oh, that was kind of sad though.
"And besides that, I've never really connected with anyone like that. Sure, I've gone on dates and been set up for big events, that kind of thing, but no one has ever kept my interest before."
Huh. "That's, um..."
"Until you."
Oh, crap. Oh, wait. Not crap. That was a good thing, right? That's what we were aiming for.Exactlywhat we were aiming for.
But now that he was saying stuff like this, it made me flustered. And nervous. And totally tongue-tied. When I didn't say anything, when my stupid brain wouldn't work and come up with something clever or sexy or cute—remember the plan, Astrid—he laughed.
"I know I'm coming on strong. I'll back off," Tristan said. "Instead, can I ask you a question?"
"Uh, sure?"
There was his low laugh again. "So what is it you're looking for in a man? In a relationship? What's important to you?"
That was easy. I'd only been thinking about that since I first became interested in boys. "First off, kindness. That's huge to me. Kindness and empathy."
He didn't say anything.Yeah, exactly, buddy.
"And," I continued, "he has to be honest, loyal, hard-working, preferably in a field that makes a difference in the world somehow." Oh, crap, that was rather pointed, wasn't it? Scrambling to cover my tracks, I kept going. "And nice. Did I say nice already? Like can never say a mean word to me, or I'll cry. No yelling or shouting at me. No belittling me. No making fun of me. No saying hurtful things and calling it teasing. I'm sensitive, and I own that. And I want my significant other to respect that."
"Has someone been mean like that to you in the past?" he asked, an edge to his voice.
Really? Tristan D. Hawthorne was going to get upset that someone had been mean to me? Oh, my God, the irony. And the nerve of him.
