“I felt abandoned as a child. As my father’s son, she regarded me with the same level of disdain. It pissed me off as a teenager, but as an adult, I appreciate the unintended effect it had on my life.”
“And what effect is that?”
“I am driven by the need to always be the best. Whatever insecurities I got from her dismissal have helped me strive for, and attain, success. In both my personal and professional life.”
“I don’t see screwing strangers as a successful personal life.”
He met my scornful look solidly. “Don’t knock something till you’ve tried it. This lifestyle is what I want right now. I’ll know when I’m ready to settle down.”
“I take it another side effect was your inability to accept rejection?”
“If you’re referring to your resistance to spending time with me, I don’t view it as rejection, just an unawareness of the allure of my charms and the inevitability of our friendship.” He grinned at me confidently.
I took a bite of pizza and tried not to stare into his gorgeous features. “I have a feeling your friends turn into jilted ex-lovers more often than not.”
“I’d love to show you how wrong you are.” His eyes practically sizzled my skin as they roamed my body, and I had to stop myself from choking on my food. He took mercy on me, though, and changed the subject. “My turn to interrogate. What’s the deal with Bob?”
“Bob is a guy I met the other night at a bar. That’s about the extent of the story.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“What? No!”
“Really.” His voice was laced with disbelief.
“Yes, really. I went home with him, but all we did was make out. I took a taxi home afterward. I’m not a slut—I had just met the guy!”
“Yet you made enough of an impression that he tracked you down at work?”
I looked at him cockily over the half slice in my hand. “I guess I make quite an impression.” His eyes darkened and he looked so fucking hot I had to look away. Easy, Julia.
“How many men have you slept with?”
I swallowed hard, willing the chunk of pepperoni down my throat while my mind raced. I pretended to chew and waved my hand in front of my face, making the “wait a minute” sign. He looked on with amusement, enjoying my discomfort. Damn man. What is the rule with this? I multiply the real number? Or is it divide? Holy hell.
In my panic, I just decided to go with the truth. “Two.”
His look was slightly confused, and then sharpened. “Two? How old are you? Did you have a long-term relationship?” His questions came out in a clump, and faster than I was able to answer them.
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