Free Find Me in Manhattan (Finding #3) by Shealy James Page B

the latter. There was no doubt I could make my desk fantasies come true if she let herself go for just a second.
    “How many times a week do you engage in sexual activities?”
    “Usually a few, but not so much lately.”
    “Why the change in your pattern?”
    “Been busy.”
    “All with different partners?”
    “No. Not always.”
    “How many partners would you say you’ve had in the past five years?”
    “I’m not sure. I haven’t counted.”
    “Guesstimate,” she scolded.
    “Twelve months in a year. Say one a month. That’s sixty. Wow. Sounds worse when you do the math. Could be more, I guess.”
    Like the pro she was, she ignored my comment and continued with her little questionnaire. “How often to you practice safe sex?”
    “Is this for personal knowledge or part of the interview?” I couldn’t help but ask. I wanted her to flirt back or maybe get angry. I’d like to see sweet Sarah get angry. Aside from the straightening of her spine and her slightly pink cheeks, Miss Grant remained professional without giving even a hint of interest in me outside of this interview. I was admittedly disappointed in her reaction.
    “I assure you, Sergeant, this is one hundred percent part of the interview. I’m trying to gauge your risk-taking behavior. Individuals who are diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder often engage in more reckless behaviors than their peers without traumatic experiences.”
    Effectively chastised for flirting with the hot Ph.D. student, I started answering her questions without any of the flair or anecdotes I had been offering her before. Since coming home from Afghanistan, I was a guy who hardly spoke. Sure, I joked with my friends and used enough words to get a girl into bed, but even I recognized I was a shell of my former self. For some reason, flirting with Sarah made me more open, more like the old Michael, and I regretted as soon as she let me know that the amorous feelings were not mutual. It was a slap in the face; an unwelcome reminder that the friendly, personable Michael didn’t exist anymore.
     
    Sarah
    This interview was the most difficult one I’d done thus far. Not only was I off because of my phone call with Jameson, but today also had to be the day the hot soldier appeared. I knew it was bound to happen. I’d met every kind of soldier except the hottie up to this point. With the way my day had been going, it was no surprise that he showed up when I was a complete disaster from talking to Jameson.
    I spent the first half of the interview avoiding eye contact. I spent the second half kicking myself. He had been opening up to me, sharing more than I expected. You could always tell what kind of subject you had on your hands by how they sat in the seventies style vinyl chair. Sergeant Pearson looked at it with disdain, and I knew that the chair wasn’t the only cause of his displeasure. As expected, he was closed off and reluctant to participate at first. However, the more questions we went through, the more he opened up. Until the dreaded sex question.
    I had never had a problem with it before, but I had never been sexually attracted to one of the study participants either. No man filled the room with his presence like Sergeant Pearson. No man eyed me the way he did. It was like he was seeing into me instead of merely looking at me. I imagined he left broken hearts all over the city with his track record. Sergeant Michael Pearson was the kind of man who made a woman forget other men existed. I had no doubt that he could consume all of my thoughts if I let him, but I wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—let him. There were several good reasons not to give into his flirting, the least of which was because my iPad recorded every word of the interview.
    When he shut down, I knew I had been too hard on him and instantly regretted handling it so harshly. I didn’t have to go all she-woman on his ass. The only hope this interview had was a change of subject.
    “How many