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boring-sounding cranberry turkey salad. But what I really
want
is the fish and chips. I’m going with the latter. Just for you.”
    She gave him a patently false grin.
    He shrugged, not looking at all impressed by her foray into fried foods. “It’s a start.”
    “I’m just trying to get to know you,” she snapped, losing patience.
Just play along!
    “Fine,” he said smoothly, leaning back and studying her. “I’ll be thirty-five on November eighth, my mother was a high school math teacher, my father was also on Wall Street, and yes, I did follow in his footsteps. I’m a middle child, with an older brother and younger sister. I’ve never done drugs, I love red wine. I ran the New York Marathon last year. Reading is my favorite hobby. And I like vanilla ice cream.”
    Julie couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. She could have written his bio for him. Vanilla ice cream, for God’s sake.
    “Anything else?” he asked.
    “Favorite color?” she asked sweetly.
    “Blue. Now, my turn.”
    “No, thanks,” she said, slapping her menu on the table. “Besides, it’ll take me a while towake myself up from my nap. What a riveting life you’ve had.”
    Mitchell gave her a slow, victorious smile.
    “What?” she snapped. “You like being insulted?”
    “No, but I like when you get all uppity like this. Be honest … you think all that small talk is garbage. You could barely keep yourself awake long enough to answer the questions.”
    “Whatever,” she muttered. “Clearly you don’t date much.”
    Julie thought she saw something dark flash across his face, but it was gone before she could name the emotion.
    “My turn for the questions,” he said again.
    “Fine,” she sighed wearily. “Let’s get it over with.”
    “You work for
Stiletto
magazine.”
    “Hardly a secret.”
    He ignored her snotty tone. “And you’re part of some little power trio.”
    “That’s right,” she said slowly, surprised he knew that much. He didn’t seem the type to be plugged into Manhattan’s social scene or read “Page Six.”
    “And you write the sexy stuff?”
    She hid a smile. Most men wouldn’t dare touch
Stiletto
in public, but that didn’t mean they weren’t curious.
    “Sort of,” she replied. “The magazine calls it Dating, Love, and Sex.”
    “Kiss, Cuddle, and Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
    Julie choked on her beer. “Excuse me?”
    “Nothing,” he said, looking faintly horrified and a good deal less cocky than he had a moment before.
    “Oh, no way am I letting you off
that
hook,” Julie said, leaning forward. “If I don’t get to hide behind pleasantries, neither do you.”
    “It was nothing.”
    “It wasn’t nothing. You said ‘Kiss, Cuddle, and Fuck.’ What is that?”
    He gave her a swift look as though the answer should be obvious, but he still refused to answer.
    The answer hit her almost immediately. Julie burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t wait to tell Grace and Riley. They’ll love that.”
    He looked doubtful. “So out of the three, you’re …”
    “Dating. Or Kiss, by your definition. Some people would probably tell you that I write the fluff pieces of our section, but I like to think I write the good stuff. Somehow our society has developed this mentality that dating is supposed to be stressful. It should be
fun
.”
    “Sure, at first. But it can’t be all fun and games.”
    “Why not?”
    He looked frustrated. “Because that’s not real life.”
    “Says who? Where is it written that there’s some sort of time limit on happiness?”
    “Well, have
you
ever been able to sustain constant happiness in your relationships? Surely you’ve experienced moments of frustration or anger or boredom once you’ve moved past the puppy love stage.”
    Julie felt the color drain from her face. His words hit way too close to home. And even more alarming was the fact that she’d gotten so wrapped up in their