Page 28 of The Dark Before Light

“Still exercising daily?”

He nods. “Judo and laps in the pool every morning. My sensei sends his thanks, by the way. He loves kicking my ass almost as much as he loves ringing my doorbell at four a.m. Crazy fucker.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And how’s work?”

“Back to the grind, as they say.” His tone is light, but his eyes flicker away from me. A second later, he crosses his legs at the ankle.

Fault line.

There are two roads ahead of me, both with risks. I can lean into the work angle, try to find out what set him off in our last session. What happened five weeks ago. Or I can aim somewhere else. If I dig from a different angle, I might reach treasure faster.

Decision made, I internally brace for conflict. “And how was the rest of your date Saturday night?”

His eyes snap to me, sparkling and dark. The moment he touched my back rises between us: his breath catching, my graceless escape. To keep from reacting—or God forbid, blushing—I think about Alan’s fumbling, failed attempt to kiss me at my front door.

“Whatever do you mean, Doc?”

Here we go.

“Did you take her home?”

He disguises a flash of surprise with laughter. “Are we really going there?”

I nod serenely. “We are.”

He sobers, sitting up and crossing his arms. Direct hit. Conscious or not, he senses what’s coming. I wait for him to either attack or attempt to redirect. But he doesn’t do either.

“No,” he says shortly. “Gail and Alistair drove her home.”

“What was her name?”

“Fla—no, Claudia.” He winces. “In my defense, it was a last-minute blind date.”

“Are blind dates typical for you?”

His eyes narrow. “Are they typical for you? Because we both know Toasty was one.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

His teeth grind, the movement of muscle along his jaw pronounced. I almost wish he’d kept the beard. Part of me wishes, too, that his guard were still up. That I couldn’t read him as easily as I now can.

“I wouldn’t say they’re typical, no.”

“How do you normally find dates?”

“An app,” he says through his teeth. “You know, Tinder for billionaires.”

I tilt my head. “Can you tell me about your dating habits the last few years? How many dates per week?”

“Two or three,” he says flatly. “Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“In that time, have you ever dated the same woman longer than a week?”

Blue flames spark and begin to burn. “Several. In fact, there are three women I’ve been seeing for over a year.”

“But you’re not seeing them exclusively. Are they aware you’re dating other women in addition to them?

The flames erupt. “They know the score, all right? We’re adults.”

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