He shakes his head. “Oh, I’m way too selfish to have children. And I’m definitely way too selfish to be in a relationship.”

“So how do you avoid it? You just don’t date?”

He cuts his eyes to me, and there’s a slight grin affixed to his face. “When I have time, there are girls who satisfy those needs. I don’t lack for anything in that department, if that’s what you’re asking. But love has never appealed to me. It’s always been more of a burden than anything.”

I wish I looked at love like that. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier. “I envy you. I have this idea that there’s a perfect man out there for me. I tend to become jaded easily, because no one ever meets my standards. I feel like I’m on an infinite search for the Holy Grail.”

“You should try my method,” he says.

“Which is?”

“One-night stands.” He raises an eyebrow, like it’s an invitation.

I’m glad it’s dark, because my face is on fire. “I could never sleep with someone if I didn’t see it going anywhere.” I say this out loud, but my words lack conviction when I say it to him.

He drags in a long, slow breath, and then rolls onto his back. “Not that kind of girl, huh?” He says this with a trace of disappointment in his voice.

I match his disappointment. I’m not sure I’d even want to turn him down if he made a move, but I might have just thwarted that possibility.

“If you wouldn’t sleep with someone you just met . . .” His eyes meet mine again. “Exactly how far would you go?”

I don’t have an answer for that. I roll onto my back because the way he’s looking at me makes me want to rethink one-night stands. I’m not necessarily against them, I suppose. I’ve just never been propositioned for one by someone I would consider it with.

Until now. I think. Is he even propositioning me? I’ve always been terrible at flirting.

He reaches out and grabs the edge of my lounge chair. In one swift movement and with very minimal effort, he drags my chair closer to him until it bumps his.

My whole body stiffens. He’s so close now, I can feel the warmth of his breath cutting through the cold air. If I were to look at him, his face would be mere inches from mine. I refuse to look at him, because he’d probably kiss me and I know absolutely nothing about this guy, other than a couple of naked truths. But that doesn’t weigh on my conscience at all when he rests a heavy hand on my stomach.

“How far would you go, Lily?” His voice is decadent. Smooth. It travels straight to my toes.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

His fingers begin to crawl toward the hem of my shirt. He begins to slowly inch it upward until a slither of my stomach is showing. “Oh, Jesus,” I whisper, feeling the warmth from his hand as he slides it up my stomach.