But in this case, he’d had everything backward. He’d thought this ruse could be accomplished while he and his partner remained strangers. Never had he thought this enterprise would require the true intimacy of a relationship rather than a facsimile of it.
“You were wrong?” she repeated. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Be kind.”
The stare she leveled at him was not exactly friendly. “What happened? You heard a few Chloe stories and decided we needed to bond better?”
Exactly. What’s more, he’d liked hearing the stories about her past and her work. He’d been privileged to see a side of her reserved for the friends she loved.
And dammit all, but he wanted more of it.
“Yes,” he answered simply.
A beat of silence reigned before she shook her head. “We’re supposed to be professional.”
“Wolves don’t do professional. Not within the pack.” He stepped closer to her. “Bringing an outside lover to a wolf gathering is…intimate. I don’t want to spill my secrets to you any more than you do to me. But meeting Jessica showed me that it’s an eventuality we need to be prepared for.”
Chloe hissed through her teeth. “You already know more about me than I know about you. This is a game I’m way too sober to play.”
“Then let’s fix that.” This, at least, was a problem he could handle. Going to the sideboard, he grabbed two shot glasses and a decanter of whiskey from the cart.
“What are you, nineteen?” she demanded as he walked back to her.
“No,” he replied. “I’m four hundred and twelve. And that was your first question, which means you have to take a drink.” He dropped onto the couch by her side and poured out the first drink.
“Wait, what?”
“We need to know uncomfortable facts that we’d only share with long-term lovers. As we are not in that kind of relationship, we need a shortcut. Alcohol loosens tongues.” Or at least he hoped to God it would. They needed to know each other’s secrets. Logically, he understood that. But he’d rather walk on nails than speak of Lisette. If the whiskey couldn’t help then they were both doomed.
“We can’t drink wine like adults?”
“Takes too long,” he replied. “Ask a question, get an answer, take a shot. Quick, painless, and we’ll be unconscious before we can regret the mistakes we make.”
“Where’d you get this idea?”
“Tonight, when I saw you loosen up as Jessica and I plied you with wine.”
“Then you have an unfairly sober head start.”
“Fine,” he said and poured himself a shot and downed it before she could protest. The whiskey was a familiar burn running down his throat. Some immortals had a high tolerance for alcohol, to the point where they could drink gallons without the slightest buzz. Kieran wondered at his partner’s tolerance. Immortals with more human physiology tended to have similar weaknesses. If he were playing completely fair he’d admit it would probably take far more questions to get him drunk than her, but a smart hunter never gave away any advantage.
“Tell me about the last man you slept with.”
She inhaled sharply. “Not exactly easing into this are you?”
If there was one thing he’d learned tonight, it was they didn’t have time. In a week they’d be surrounded by his packmates, people eager to know every minute detail of their relationship. They weren’t ready for that, and if they kept their secrets so closely guarded, they never would be.
“We need to know the details people might ask about. Exes are common fodder for interrogation,” he explained.
“That means I’ll be asking about yours.”
Despair spiraled through him, though he kept his expression blank. “I know.”
And he’d have to answer. He needed to be as open as he was asking her to be. He tossed back another shot at the thought.
“You’ll really answer?” she breathed, obviously intrigued despite herself. “Anything I want to know?”
“Anything,” he agreed before he could regret it.
“Might be worth a headache in the morning,” she mused, eying her full shot glass. “Fine. My last ex was a griffin named Edward. It only lasted a few months.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I lost interest. He was nice enough. Did all the right things. It was me who walked away.” Pointing to the bottle she added, “I answered your question, drink up.”
Inclining his head, he tossed back another shot.
“My turn,” she said. “Tell me about your ex.”
Ah, a brief reprieve. Chloe needed to learn when playing with wolves to have a care for her words. “She was a model named Candy,” he said. “Seriously. It was on her birth certificate.”