Chapter 5 The Answer Sent Thrills

• The answer sent thrills through my belly.
• It was obvious that he was flirting with me… and brazenly, at that.
• But I struggled to keep the upper hand.
• “It’s the wrong question,” I said.
• “Oh? What’s the right question?”
• “What does an individual woman want? Women aren’t all the same. They don’t want the same things.”
• “Well… what do you want?”
• Oh my God.
• His voice…
• I was melting at the sound of it.
• And then my roommate spoke up.
• “I know what Shanna wants,” Shanna slurred from her bed. “Shanna wants to get laid.”
• Then it hit me how much of a bitch I was being. She’d gotten this guy; she’d brought him back; and here I was, stealing him away from her.
• Me, with a boyfriend.
• Well, an ex-boyfriend… who would probably be my boyfriend again within 24 hours.
• Time to bail.
• “I should leave you two,” I said, and moved to go.
• Derek put out his hand. “No – stay. We’re having a very interesting conversation here.”
• “About the Wife of Bath,” I gently mocked him, totally not believing him.
• “And the Wife of Bath’s tale. And the deeper meaning.”
• I arched an eyebrow. “About what women want.”
• “About what one woman in particular wants. So?”
• I paused and looked him square in the eyes. I had to be careful – I could have gotten lost in those beautiful green depths so easily…
• “Why do you care?”
• He shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”
• “I don’t go around asking random people I meet what they want.”
• “Well, people aren’t all the same,” he said with a sly smile. “They don’t all want the same things.”
• Okay… using my words against me like that? Pretty clever.
• I grinned. “Touché. But before I tell you… what do you want?”
• “Right now, I want to find out more about you.”
• It was so obvious he was flirting with me.
• And any casual observer would think I was flirting with him.
• Maybe I was.
• My stomach twisted a little, and I got a little afraid.
• Afraid that I was flirting…
• …afraid that I liked it…
• …and maybe, just maybe, a little afraid that if I opened up too much, I might get hurt.
• “So… what do you want?” he continued. “Specifically, what do you want out of life?”
• I brushed my hair behind one ear, looked down at the floor, and gave my standard answer. “I want to be a journalist.”
• “That’s cool,” he said in a positive but laidback voice.
• I looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. “Is it?”
• “I think so. What kind of a journalist? I mean, do you want to run off into warzones, or write for a city paper, or – ”
• “No, I want to write for magazines. I want to do a whole lot of different things, go different places… live life to its fullest. And I figure it would be great to get paid to do it.”
• “That’s cool.”
• “Yeah?” I asked, a little shyly.
• Why the hell did I care what this guy thought about my life’s dream?
• I don’t know… but for some reason, I did.
• “Yeah,” he nodded, completely sincere.
• “Huh…”
• He frowned the tiniest bit. “What?”
• “I wouldn’t have thought you would think that was cool.”
• “Why not?”
• “I just don’t see you thinking journalism would be that interesting.”
• “Hunter S. Thompson was one of the coolest people ever. He was a journalist. A great journalist.”
• “A gonzo journalist,” I added, pretty much throwing in the only thing I knew about Hunter S. Thompson, except that he wrote Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas.
• “Yup,” he agreed. “For the greatest music criticism magazine in the world.”
• “But, you have to admit,” I said, “he is arguably one of the coolest people who ever lived.”
• “True.”
• “I don’t think I’m quite going to live up to that,” I joked.
• “Don’t give up so soon.”
• I laughed. “Yeah… okay…”
• “What’s so funny?”
• “I didn’t think I was going to get a pep talk on ‘journalism is cool’ from Mr. Rock ‘n Roll.”
• “Just because I’m Mr. Rock ‘n Roll doesn’t mean I can’t think other people’s dreams are cool.”
• He said it in a friendly tone, but also with the tiniest bit of rebuke… like I was only judging him by his appearance, and being an ass about it.
• And he was absolutely correct.
• “You’re right,” I agreed grudgingly. “Sorry.”
• “Don’t be sorry,” he grinned. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”
• I looked at him for the longest time… and yes, I got lost in his eyes. They were mesmerizing.
• Probably ten seconds went by before I realized I was staring. I broke it off and tried to be all jaunty and witty. “So… what do you want? Other than to get into drunk girls’ pants?”
• “Do you see me getting into drunk girls’ pants?” he asked.
• “NO,” Shanna shouted from her bed.
• I’d totally forgotten about her. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, otherwise dead to the world.
• “No,” I admitted and then laughed, mostly at Shanna’s unexpected reappearance in the conversation.
• He grinned, too. “Okay, then.”
• “…so what do you want? Out of life.”
• He looked at me for a long moment before he answered – like he was gauging me. Like maybe
• he was wondering how much he should open up to me.
• Then he started talking.