Page 16 of Match Point

“You can ask the first question.”

“All right.” I frowned in concentration. “I can ask anything?”

“Within reason,” he said suspiciously.

“I bet you collect something,” I guessed. “Like baseball cards. Or those little Hot Wheels toys. But definitely some sort of collection you obsess over.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Signed baseballs. I have over a thousand signed by various baseball players.”

I squealed with excitement. “Do I get to choose the article of clothing?”

Dominic reached down and pulled off both shoes and socks. “Nope. My turn.” He cocked his head while studying me. His green eyes sparkled when he came up with his guess. “You listen to podcasts.”

“Everyone listens to podcasts. You need to be more specific than that.”

“Okay.” Dominic bit his lip. “True crime podcasts.”

I grinned. “Nope!”

“I don’t believe you.”

I retrieved my phone from my clutch, unlocked it, and tossed it to him. “See for yourself.”

His angular face was illuminated by the glow of the screen as he scrolled through it. “Wow. There are a lot of nude selfies in your camera roll.”

“HEY!”

He quickly flipped the phone around, showing me the podcast screen. “Just kidding. I’m respecting your privacy.” Dominic scrolled some more. “The Daily.Okay.Stuff You Should Know. That’s a good one.” His eyes widened. “Ah hah! How do you explain this?”

I squinted at the screen. “1865? That’s not a true crime podcast. It’s history.”

Dominic began reading the description out loud. “President Lincoln is dead and the country is in turmoil. Secretary of War Edwin Stanton takes control, determined to bring the assassin to justice.”

“Exactly,” I insisted. “History.”

“A crime was committed,” Dominic said. “And it wastrue,as opposed to made up. Therefore, it is a true crime. I rest my case.”

“You might think you’re smart,” I said sweetly. “But technically, you said I listen to true crime podcasts.Plural. This is the only one that has anything to do with crime. So you are still wrong.”

“Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play?” he shot back at me with a laugh. “You’re going to remain clothed based on a technicality?”

Taking pity on him, I took off one shoe. “That’s all you’ll get. Guess better next time.”

He grumbled, but didn’t argue further.

“Now, for you…” I glanced down at him. “You injured your ankle at some point, and it still bothers you every now and then.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s public knowledge. I missed Wimbledon because of it.”

“That’s only half of my guess,” I replied. “Yourpublicstory was that you injured it while practicing doubles. But I think that’s a lie. I believe you injured it doing something in your free time.”

He gave me a long stare. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You injured it doing somethingstupid,”I guessed. “Something you wouldn’t want the public to know.”

Dominic glared at me—he was gorgeous even while glaring!—and rose from the bed. He unbuckled his belt and then let his pants slide to the ground. His grey boxer-briefs were plastered to long, powerful thighs, and the outline of his semi-hard cock bulged across the front.

“Well?” I asked. “How did you injure it?”

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