Page 31 of Playing the Field
He smiles. “Good answer. Bogie approves.”
I wag a finger. “Hey, no editorializing.”
“Fine. Brush your teeth before morning coffee or after?”
“Both.”
“Ah, interesting.” He shakes his head at himself. “Sorry. Okay, morning person or night owl?”
“Night.” I wait for some sort of commentary, but he only nods, observing me with his lips pressed together. “Okay, I know you’re thinking something. Do we need to talk about it?”
Our server interrupts by wheeling over a cart with Caesar salad ingredients and proceeds to make the salad tableside. He tears the lettuce into pieces in a large wooden bowl and makes paste from anchovies and egg yolks before beginning to beat in oil, vinegar, and some Dijon mustard. I watch in rapt fascination, taking mental notes so I can do this myself sometime.
He adds croutons and tosses the salad before dividing it onto two plates. We toast each other with our water glasses before digging in.
“Oh my god, this is so, so good,” I say with a mouthful of food.
Hunter nods. “Yup.”
I take another bite, and we eat in silence for a moment. I feel Hunter’s eyes on me and worry I must have dressing dripping down my chin. With the initial pangs of hunger satisfied by a few bites, I wipe my mouth and put my napkin back in my lap. Hunter cuts through a large piece of lettuce and uses his knife to fold the perfect-sized bite onto his fork.
“Okay, I think it’s my turn,” I say, putting down my fork. “Would you rather…” I realize I didn’t think this through. I’m dying to get off the hot seat and ask Hunter a few probing questions, but I don’t have a ready list. Brain racing, I come up with one. “Jane Austen or Harlen Coben?”
“Ooh, tough. I’m a mood reader. Today…Coben.”
“Sleep in a tent or sleep in an RV?”
“Tent.” That surprises me because he seems like he’d want a cushier bed, but I keep going.
“Ocean or lake?” I take a sip of water.
“Depends, am I skinny-dipping?”
The water sprays from my lips, and I’m sure I turn red as a beet. “Hunter!”
“Honest question.”
“What does it matter?”
“Trust me, itmatters.” If I wasn’t already fanning my hot face, this kicks it up another notch. It’s all I can do not to picture himstanding naked atop a rock, ready to jump into a lake. Okay, now I’m picturing it.
He’s right. It matters.
And god, does he look amazing. All broad shoulders, trim waist, muscled soccer thighs, ripped abs. My hand shoots to my mouth because I may have drooled. I don’t even need to picture him naked on the beach, sun streaming down, ready to race into the ocean, but I can’t help myself.
I lean back in my chair, skin damp, feeling utter defeat. “You win.”
“What do you mean, I win?”
“If the object of this game was to evoke utter mortification from me, you definitely win.”
He steadies his eyes on me, watching quietly as I attempt to tame my hair into a ponytail to get it off my two-hundred-degree neck. I fish in my purse for a rubber band and tie it out of my face, but a few strands break free and fall in front of my eyes. Better, so he can’t see the embarrassment.
Hunter leans toward me until his face is inches from mine. When he speaks, I can feel his breath on my skin, but I’m not about to back away. “The object of the game was to get to know you better.” His voice is a low growl, and it feels like flames licking my neck. I resist the urge to fan my skin even though I might spontaneously combust.
He nods slowly. “Mission accomplished.”
CHAPTER 16
