The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(36)

We entered to the sound of a strained voice singing "I Love Rock N' Roll" and found a seat near the stage. Clayton flipped open the book of song choices and eagerly started skimming the titles with his fingertips. "Actually, I think you should pick our first song," he said, pushing the book across the table.

"Ah, so this is going to be a duet?"

Clayton raised his eyebrows. "Unless you want to go up there alone."

I quickly opened the book. "You know, I've always been a fan of duets."

He laughed again. "Good. Then choose."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him watching me as my fingertips skimmed the song list. "Okay, I got it," I said, arriving at a title and silently thanking the karaoke gods that it was available.

"What?"

I turned the book around so he could read my selection.

"'Pour Some Sugar on Me'?"

I crinkled my forehead. "No good?"

"Are you serious?"

I pulled the book back, possessively. "Okay, okay. I'll pick something else."

He yanked it out from under me. "No! I love that song! It's my karaoke classic!"

I giggled and stood up. "Good then. I'll put in the request."



TWO HOURS later I had discovered the secret to a successful first date: Def Leppard. The crowd finally booed us off the stage after three Def Leppard tributes (although, I'm sure the actual members of the band would question the use of the word "tribute"), insisting that we move on and broaden our horizons.

"So have you had enough Def Leppard for one night?" he asked, after we returned to our table.

I eagerly reached for the songbook. "Yes. Let's move on to Bon Jovi!"

Clayton laughed. "I don't know. I think I'm pretty spent."

I looked at my watch. It was 11:45 P.M. My expression turned to disappointment. "Already? But it's so early."

"We could go back to my place and watch some TV." He shrugged his shoulders, as if trying to imply that my response to his invitation was completely irrelevant.

Although we both knew that it wasn't.

I shrugged back. "Sure, why not. Got any Family Guy?"

He smiled contently. "All five seasons on DVD. I knew I liked you."

I nodded approvingly. I probably could have already told you he had all five seasons of Family Guy on DVD. In fact, he probably had the Family Guy movie as well. But I imagined first dates were more fun when you weren't able to read the other person like an open book. And as much as Sophie or Zo? would kill for that kind of skill on some of their dates, the novelty for me had worn off some time ago. And most of the time I wished I could just be more like my friends. So I could walk in the door of a restaurant and not instinctively point out all the men inside who were cheating on their wives – or capable of doing so. So I could order from a waiter and not be able to tell you his life story just by the way he says "Anything to drink for you?" No men-reading skills, no jaded opinions. Just... normal.

But that was obviously a relative term.

And for tonight I would just have to keep on pretending.



CLAYTON AND I made it through approximately fifteen minutes of our mutually favorite Family Guy episode before he leaned in to kiss me. I didn't resist.

He was a gentle kisser. More passion than impatience. His tongue playfully teased my bottom lip, and after a few short seconds, I was able to adapt my end of the kiss to match up perfectly with his, another useful skill I'd picked up along the way.

Kissing is a power game. Just like dancing. The men will usually lead, but in some cases they like following. I can normally tell five to ten seconds into the kiss if he wants to be in control... and just how much control that includes. Because it's not just black or white. You lead, I follow. I think of it in percentages. Most guys kiss in an 80-20 ratio, 80 percent of the kiss being controlled and dictated by him, 20 percent left to your discretion. Which means you get to throw in a tongue thrust or a lip nibble every once in a while, but for the most part, they're in the driver's seat.

I can imagine that's why some first kisses are so awkward, both parties trying to dictate the ratio at the same time. He wants 80-20 but she's only used to giving 60-40. It's chaos. I'm all for equal rights, women's liberty, etc., but over the years I've learned a thing or two about Mars and the men who live there. When it comes to kissing, it's like doing the tango: You just follow.

Which is probably why tonight our kiss was far from awkward. It was damn near perfect. If I had to guess...a 55-45. But there was no time for guessing, not when his lips felt the way they did. It was the kind of kiss a woman can feel in her thighs. The kind of kiss that makes you grateful that you're sitting down. Because had you been standing up, your knees might have buckled underneath you.

The soft moans escaping from my lips as they gently melded with his told him what kind of kiss it was. It also told him that I wanted more.

He moaned back and pressed his tongue slightly deeper into my mouth. I reached my hand around to the back of his head and pulled him closer to me. Then his hands went for my sweater and lingered hesitantly along the bottom hemline. I threw my arms straight in the air, indicating that I wanted it off just as badly as he did. The sweater came flying over my head. My purposefully sloppy side ponytail was yanked upward and then fell back into place, now extremely more disheveled looking than the magazine had originally suggested.