Page 27 of Head Over Heels

I raise an eyebrow. "Talk about it?"That seems obvious."No offense, but I don't see myself falling for you. For anyone," I add quickly, "because my heart's been taken for a long time. If you develop feelings, just talk to me about it. We'll deal with it."

"Fair enough. What else before I have Hettie draw up the contract?"

I bite my lip. "That's all, I think."

She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You want to say something. Tell me."

I shake my head. "I don't think it belongs in the contract, but we should talk about sex."

She laughs. "I forgot you had to give up your orgasm partner."

"My orgasm partner?" I arch a brow.

"It sounds less crass than fuck buddy."

She's not wrong. "I don't expect anything from you," I preface, "but if I'm publicly engaged to you, I won't go elsewhere."

"If you need to, be discreet. I'm not opposed to the idea, but you have to understand…" She sighs. "I have a hard time being physically intimate without an emotional connection."

"And you don't make emotional connections," I finish for her. "Forget I brought it up." The way she balked at me kissing her, I don't even want her to consider it.

She meets my eyes. "I don't mind giving, Josie. That's not what I meant."

"No." I wave it off. "The rest of this, we can fake. Not that."

"If we develop an emotional connection, we'll revisit the issue. Fair?"

"Sure." I wave the thought away. I've seen how she acts around people. Florence Pietra doesn't do emotions.

She makes a few notes on Hettie's list, then pushes it aside and drains her beer. "Come sit by me on the couch. We'll put something on for a while?"

I want to argue, suggest we talk and get to know each—but every pivot of the conversation seems to backfire.

She sits on the couch and turns on the TV.

She has cable?

She flips it to the game show channel.Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?is on. "This is my guilty pleasure," she admits softly, motioning for me to sit down. "Relax, Josie."

I sit down opposite her. "So, are you smarter than a fifth grader?"

She smirks, a dirty glint of amusement in her eye. "In many, many ways." She pats the couch next to her. "Not when it comes to science, but the rest I do okay. Come sit by me. Let's get comfortable." She rests her arm on the back of the couch, and I move closer. "Don't worry, I don't bite," she whispers in my ear.

"Good. Although nibbling is acceptable, depending on where you're nibbling." I nudge her with my shoulder.

She laughs, leaning into me. But it feels forced—like she's not used to sharing space with another person. I force myself to make it through two episodes—I promised I'd stay for an hour.

"I should get going," I say, standing. "I've got to be up early for work."

"On a Saturday? You have weekend classes?"

I shake my head. "No, they're private lessons. One of my students can't make labs during the week. I meet with her every Saturday for a few hours. It's been like that for almost two years."

"Why allow her to take your classes if she can't attend the scheduled times?"

I raise an eyebrow. "She works sixty hours a week—she's a surgical nurse in ortho and neuro. She's working on her neuro cert. She's talented and she wants to learn, so I teach her." I don't mention that she's Mel's nurse. I bring up Mel too much as it is.

"Well," she says, searching for words. "Why can't she just take Thursdays off?"

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