Page 27 of Irreplaceable

“That’s sexist.”

“It’s realistic. She tried teaching me as a boy, and I hated it.”

I was the one laughing now. “Cooking?”

He shrugged. “Seems more like a chore, though I do enjoy it from time to time.”

“Maybe we should narrow it down more. Would you rather do something creative or athletic?”

“Both.”

I frowned. “Both?”

“Mm-hmm.” He seemed to be enjoying this game.

“Okay. Leatherworking?”

He laughed. “How obscure.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Italy is known for its leather craftmanship.”

“True, but then you could argue that I should try glassblowing.”

“Oh. I have.” I perked up, straightening in my chair. “It’s actually really hard.”

He took another bite of the curry. “Of course you have. You’ve tried everything.”

“Not everything,” I said. There were still many things I wanted to try and hadn’t.

“Okay. So if you didn’t pole dance and travel for work and whatever else, what would you do?”

“What wouldn’t I?” I asked, excitement filling me at the possibilities. “I’d love to learn about locksmithing. I’d like to try archery. BMX biking.”

“You are a true philomath.”

“Philomath,” I repeated the word.

“A lover of learning.”

“Look at you and your fancy words,” I teased.

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know.” He smirked.

“Oh, I know.” I scanned his body greedily.

Even though we’d had more sex in the past few days than I’d had in the past few years, I still wanted more. I also wanted more information. I was curious by nature, and his persistent attempts to evade my questions weren’t helping. We’d slept together. I was staying with him. And Enzo’s lack of willingness to share much if anything only inflamed my desire to know more about him.

I reached for a banana leaf packet, and I knocked over the curry with my elbow, spilling it across my lap. Ugh. I squeezed my eyes shut. Just great.

“Uh-oh,” Enzo teased as I dabbed at my dress. “Looks like someone’s had a little too much arak.”

“Says the man who keeps refilling my glass.” I glared at him. “How the heck do you expect me to get back upstairs on my crutches?”

He chuckled darkly. “I don’t.”

“Enzo.” I tossed a ball of rice at him. “You can’t carry me everywhere.”

He stared down at his shirt as if affronted. “And you can’t throw food at me.”

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