“Never had it.”

“What?” I can’t even with this guy. But then again, am I really surprised? “You’re missing out.”

“Not likely.”

“Let me guess, you’re a vanilla kind of guy?”

“I don’t eat ice cream,” he responds. I nearly fall out of my seat with this discovery, but then again, maybe it makes sense.

“I think that’s worse than being vanilla guy. At least vanilla guy is in the game.”

“What game is that?” he asks.

“The ice cream eating game. Your ice cream flavor says a lot about your personality. Vanilla guy is classic, and confident in what he likes. Sometimes he adds sprinkles if he’s feeling wild, but mostly enjoys his ice cream in a cone because he likes to keep things simple.”

Barrett smirks. “Sounds like you know this vanilla guy pretty well.”

I don’t need to tell Barrett about any guys that I do or do not know. Vanilla or not. We’re in a fake relationship so my sex life, or lack thereof, is not of his concern.

I busy myself with putting my laptop away, but now it’s just me and Barrett, staring at each other from across the table. Barrett’s doing that thing again where he’s obnoxiously quiet, yet completely comfortable. It makes me want to jump out of my chair. Where is that waiter?

“So, you want me to uncover the cases?” he says, finally.

“Yes.” I nod, pleased that my ice cream analogy was well received. “Pull back the paper and get out the tasting spoons.”

Barrett eyes me for a minute, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I’ve got an idea.”

He reaches for the paper which I continue to hold tight to. Barrett lifts his brows.

“Please?” He extends his hand.

Manners. What a treat. I finally hand it over.

Barrett uncaps his pen, then places the cap on the end. Why that simple movement makes my legs start to shake is unexplainable. Or completely obvious. It’s the same reaction I had when he signed the fundraiser check in his office last week.

Apparently, I’m horny for Barrett’s hands. They are sexy. They’re large, yet elegant. Can hands be elegant? Maybe it’s his long fingers or the way they look so fucking capable, and capable of fucking. Oh, shit. Do not think that. He might also be a mind reader. That could be why he’s silent a lot. He’s keeping the pathway open to be able to read other people’s thoughts. My cheeks heat and I wish I had my paper back so I could fold it into a fan. The accordion style you’d make at summer camp in arts and crafts.

I’m so distracted with calming myself down that when Barrett hands me back the paper I’m confused at what I’m looking at.