I know how much Jax and Remy love traveling. I’ve been invited to more than one trip to Europe, but with fight camps it was never good timing. Plus I was never sure that being cooped up in a hostel or hotel room with a girl that hates my guts was ever a good idea.
Ignoring the temptation to get into a conversation with her about her traveling memories, I instead ask my next question. "What's your favorite book?"
I'm losing track of the amount of times I've shocked her tonight. If I were any other guy, I'd probably be offended by her shocked expressions that clearly imply she thinks I'm dumb as a brick. But I'm so used to people assuming that fighters are idiots that I can't summon enough energy to be outraged anymore. In fact, part of me actually enjoys the low expectations because it makes me feel smug when their assumptions are proven wrong.
"I'm not surprised because I think you're dumb," she says hastily, as if hearing my thoughts. "I feel like you think that I see you as a dumb brute just because you're a fighter. I don't. It's just… people don't ask that question anymore. They don't read. Or play chess. I feel like having academic interests just isn't as normal anymore outside of an actual intellectual career."
I shrug, caring less about what other people think or do than Remy seems to. I read because I like learning and exercising my brain. I don't feel any need to share my knowledge with anyone else if they don't ask.
Then again, I also don't care to socialize with people like Remy does. I will never understand how bubbly people have as much energy as they do.
"Rooftops of Tehran," she answers my question. "It's a coming-of-age story based in war-torn Iran and it's the most beautifully written novel I've ever read in my entire life. I read it once a year and it makes me sob like a baby every time."
I blink incredulously. "First of all, how can a book make you cry? And second of all, how does it make you cry when you already know what's going to happen?"
She glares at me pointedly. "You're veering into follow-up questions. My turn to ask a question." She taps her lips thoughtfully before glaring at me again. "You have no idea how badly I want to ask you what your favorite book is. Something tells me you'd have a fascinating answer."
I grin and shrug my shoulders mockingly. I do actually have a fascinating answer.
She sighs but moves on to ask her question. "What's the worst female quality?"
Now it's my turn to stare in shock. I figured we'd get into sex or relationship questions eventually, but that's definitely not the direction I expected her to go in. Especially since she only has two questions left after this one.
I mull it over, wanting to give her an honest answer. I think about the women I've dated and fights or turn-offs I've experienced.
"Probably the inability to think logically when they're really emotional. Not that I think women aren't capable of that," I add hurriedly, anticipating her outrage. "But it's just a very female quality. I've had plenty of fights with women where they refused to see the issue logically because they were too caught up in feeling upset. It's definitely the most frustrating type of fight because there's no way to win or convince them otherwise."
She taps her lips as she considers my answer. After several moments, she nods her head in acceptance.
"That's it?" I blurt. "No rebuttal? No outrage that I dare to see women as emotional weaklings that are incapable of making smart decisions?"
"No, because that's not what you said." She pauses and then grins. "Also, that would prove your point."
I bark a startled laugh when I realize she's right.
"What's the most cringe-worthy thing a guy has ever said to you?" I ask her curiously.
She winces and starts picking with the thread on her pants. I'm starting to realize that twitchy hand movements are her biggest tell when she's nervous, and grin while I eagerly wait for whatever answer is making her uneasy.
"I had a guy repeatedly say the word 'wow' while I sucked his dick,” she mumbles quietly.
I blink in shock—and then roar with laughter.
"Are you kidding me?" I gasp when I finally catch my breath. "Was he drunk?"
"No," she mumbles, still not making eye contact.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." I'm still chuckling when I reach over and tug her hair to get her attention. "Not that your blowjobs aren't the definition of wow-worthy, but I'd much rather tell you I think you look beautiful with your lips wrapped around my cock. Not 'wow.’"
She pulls her legs up on the couch and wraps her arms around her knees, but I don't miss the small smile that appears on her face. Suddenly, I wonder if she has any idea how sexy she is.
"How many girls have you dated?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. "Dated, or been in relationships with?"
"Um, either. Whichever one you want to answer."
I settle back into the couch cushions, debating what answer I want to give her. There are two different aspects to this question when girls ask it: either they want to know my body count—which is never a fun conversation—or they want to know how many girls I've been serious about. Which is also not a great conversation.