“Sure.”

I was still holding her wrist when she explained, “I put on a work party every now and then for fun and morale and a way to meet people outside of work all in one go. Plus drinks.”

“They were good.”

“And the food.”

“Divine.”

“But being around people in social settings for too long drains me. Being at a party that large sucked my energy dry that day. Other people are like…energy vampires. Oh! That’s another thing I need in a man: someone who doesn’t suck my energy.”

“No vampires. Got it.”

“Are you taking notes?”

“Extensive ones.”

“Good. I’d already been at my limit when you introduced yourself to me. I should’ve been more present, and I apologize that I wasn’t. That was probably a bad first impression, but I was on the verge of having an anxiety attack.”

“That’s when you ignored me?”

She nodded. “Not intentionally. Everyone started to blur together, and the only thing I could focus on was how to get out, but it was my party at my place. I faked an important phone call and escaped into the bedroom, where it was quiet and dark, and just stayed there. I didn’t know how long it had been, and I physically couldn’t move. Not even to say goodbye to people. I knew they were leaving. I heard them, people were looking for me, texts on my phone, but then someone thought I was outside, so more people shuffled out. And then you came barging in, but I was still having an anxiety attack at two percent battery on my way to shutting down.”

I stole a breath. How often did misunderstandings happen because both views were dramatically different? How many ruined moments or failed relationships or failures to become more? A hell of a lot. We were a prime example.

“Then you said something about me ditching my own party and I wanted to cry.”

My heart fractured. “I…had no idea. It was a joke. To break the awkwardness of me walking into your bedroom. I know. I have to work on my tone.”

“It wasn’t you. Tack on a panic attack and exhaustion and worries over career and work and life and failed relationships and…a lot of things snowballed into that one moment. I wanted to cry, but you were there, so I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry I made that moment worse. Had I known…” I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. “So that’s why you snapped at me?”

“Did I? I didn’t mean to. It was a blur. And I hadn’t even had alcohol.”

“I figured you didn’t like me, and you were short with me afterward at work to seal my assumption.”

“Short? No. No. We were swamped with huge projects and major deadlines, and everyone was asking me for everything, and I was giving everyone direct answers that were…”

“Short?”

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “They had to be quick if I was going to respond to everyone. But then you got snarky with me.”

“Because you gave short, irritated answers.”

“So that means you had to shove it back at me?” She shifted to face me so that our knees were almost touching. Annoyance flashed across her features.

“If that was a moment or days or weeks of stress, then how the hell did this last a year?”

“Because you were giving it to me!”

“Only because you started it!”

“Real mature.”

“But that means you kept playing this short, annoyed response game in spite of me, huh?” I arched a brow in challenge.

Her irritation faded. She clamped down on a smile.

“Don’t try to hide it.” I nudged her knee with mine.

She leaned onto her elbows, matching my posture. “I always assumed you were this grumpy, snarky, stoic person.”

“I am. But okay, it’d become a game with you. I admit it. To know that I could get under your skin is fun.” The corner of my mouth twitched.

“I started doing the same with you because I could tell you enjoyed annoying me.”

I tapped her fingers hanging close to my hands. Her skin was so soft. I couldn’t stop touching her. “What do you think of me now?”

She peered right into my soul with those beautiful, dark eyes. “I think you’re kind of nice. Maybe even rom-com cheesy.”

“That makes me boyfriend material, you know?”

“I thought you were my boyfriend.”

In all this fraud dating, I found myself wishing it weren’t so fake. That these sensations coursing through me were real reactions. That these moments were true, and that these sparks between us were everlasting.

“And what do you think of me now?” she asked.

I touched her bare knee, daring but irresistible. Her gaze darted to where we made contact, but she didn’t move away. “I think you’re still an effervescent smart-ass.”

“Lovely,” she jested. “Quite romantic.”

My thumb stroked the inside of her knee. Her breath hitched. Her eyes flashed to mine. “I love your reactions to me.”

“When you’re pushing my buttons?”

“Yep.”

My hand glided higher up her knee, moving to her outer thigh until I felt the underside of her chair and dragged it toward me. Bane squeaked, grasping my biceps as my right knee slipped in between her legs. Her eyes fluttered. Her chest moved in and out in mesmerizing bursts.

I leaned forward, touching my forehead to hers, my hands finding their way to her soft, warm thighs. Her hold on my arms tightened.

“I really want to kiss you,” I muttered against her cheek, where I could hear her panting. “So I need you to tell me not to.”

“I will do no such thing.” Her hand moved to the nape of my neck and clutched my hair.

“Bane,” I groaned.