Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
He pulls his hand back, then takes his own bite of the strawberry.
We stare at each other, chewing. Silent.
Finally, he says, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest.”
He grins again. Pride. “You know, I find you intriguing as well.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
He scoffs. “That’s a joke?”
“No. It’s just… well, I’m nothing like you.”
“No, that’s for sure. You are nothing like me. Which is why I find you intriguing.”
“The way a child might be intrigued with an ant colony?”
This response earns me a full-fledged guffaw. “Nova.”
“What? You’re way overthinking me, Mercer.”
“You’re a neuroscientist. That doesn’t make you intriguing? I mean, they have jokes about your people, don’t they. ‘It doesn’t take a brain surgeon,’ right?”
I smile. “Yeah, well. I’m not a brain surgeon and they use that same joke for rocket scientists.”
“Still.” He takes the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket, studies the label for a moment, then pops the cork. I watch him as he carefully fills our glasses, then sets the bottle back in the bucket.
He nods his chin to my glass, and I pick it up.
“What should we toast to?”
“Um…” Yeah, I got nothing.
“How about…” He thinks for a moment. “To fresh starts and new beginnings.”
I clink my glass to his and smile. “Sounds good to me.”
We sip, then set our glasses down. Mercer picks up another strawberry. “Would you like another bite?”
What is going on here?
He wants to feed me?
It’s erotic, right? I mean… that’s something you do on a…
First date, Nova?
First weekend trip?
Honeymoon?
“You don’t like to be fed?”
I laugh. It’s an uncomfortable laugh. “Well. It’s just kinda weird.”
“Is it? Too forward for you?”
“No.” Because that’s not it. “It’s just…”
“Confusing?” His eyebrow goes up.
I point at him. “Exactly. It’s confusing.”
“Because we have a professional relationship and me feeding you strawberries feels intimate.” He says this like he doesn’t believe it.
“Don’t you think it feels intimate?”
“I don’t really believe in intimacy.”
“What?”
“That’s right. I’m cold, and calculating, and don’t have a lot of feelings about things. I told you this, remember? I’m a dick. Everyone knows it.”
“Wow.”
“I know. It’s not attractive, is it?”
“No. I mean…” I huff. “What I mean is… you’re not that person.”
“What person?”
“The one you just described.”
That eyebrow goes up again and his smile is positively impish. “I’m not cold and calculating?”
“Oh, I have no doubt that you are both of those things. But Mercer. Please. No feelings about things?”
“You think I feel?”
“First of all, everyone feels. It’s just a matter of degree. But, please, my friend. You feel greatly.”
He laughs. “Is that so? Tell me all about it, Nova Ryan. Tell me exactly why you think that.”
“OK. I will. I mean, brains, right? That’s something I understand. And I am getting a feeling about you.”
“Perfect. We are talking about feelings, aren’t we?”
“And my feeling is that you pick and choose.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. You are what I call a compartmentalized person.”
His smile falls just a little. “Where did you get that term?”
I shrug. “I came up with it in my research during grad school.”
“No, you didn’t. I read your thesis, Nova. There was no mention of compartmentalization in there.”
“Well, you were not thorough, Mr. Mercer. Because if you were, then you would know that the thesis I defended was actually my second.”
He picks up his glass and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Tell me more.”
“I didn’t start out in the biomedical department. I started out in psychology.”
His eyes narrow. “You did not.”
“I swear. But, as you are probably deducing, it wasn’t my thing. I was in a psychology lab that was collaborating with a neuro lab. And we were doing—well, they were doing a study on how people process information, including feelings. I was trying to come up with a project and started breaking it all down into basic categories. I don’t know you that well, but we’ve spent quite a bit of time together now.”
“So you’ve diagnosed me?”
“No. It’s not a diagnosis. It’s just an observation.”
He leans forward and sets his glass down again. “Tell me everything.”
“You have all the feelings, Mercer. You just take them out one at a time.”
“And which one am I displaying at the moment?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Really. It’s not my thing. That was just a project idea so I’m not an expert.”
“Guess.”
“OK. If I had to guess… then… dominance.”
He leans back, grinning like a boy on Christmas.
“Am I right?”
“You’re very close, Nova.” Then he looks out the window. “We’re here.” He stands and walks over to pull out my chair.
I stand too, and when I do, he doesn’t back up. Instead, he leans in to my neck and whispers, “But we will continue this conversation on the plane, if that’s OK.”
A chill runs up my body and I almost shiver.
“I asked you a question, Nova.”
“Yeah, OK. We can continue on the plane.”
“Perfect.” Then he puts his hand on the small of my back again, and guides me out of the little room.