Impulsive by Catherine Hart Read Free Book Online

He wanted her to fill out the
questionnaire he'd devised, the better to exchange necessary data between them.
In turn, he would send one back to her with the personal facts on himself.
    Jess glanced at the four-page, single-spaced document, her
eyebrows and her blood pressure rising at the number of questions and the
nature of them. How in the heck had he typed this up so quickly? She'd only
dropped him off at his car a little over an hour ago! And the things he'd had
the gall to ask her! Why, this guy had more raw nerve than a decayed tooth!
Beyond full name, address, age, height, weight, schooling, work experience, and
the usual statistics you'd expect to find on, say, a job application, he was
requesting some very private information, the nosy damned twit!
    One line wanted her to list the names of close relatives, living
or deceased, and include any relevant or interesting details about them.
Another actually inquired about sexually transmitted diseases, and if she'd
ever been tested for AIDS! Additionally, there was a query about any medical
problems, such as diabetes, allergies, ulcers, recent or pending operations, or
drug addictions! Was there a family history of heart problems, migraines,
or—the topper—mental illness? Then he got really nit-picky and wanted to know
if she wore dentures, eyeglasses or contact lenses, if she snored, and how
severe she would rate her PMS.
    The list went on and on, asking about everything from her favorite
color and food preferences, to the type of undies, nighties or pajamas she
wore—or did she sleep in the nude? What size was her bed? Did it have a regular
mattress or was it a waterbed? Did she prefer one side of the bed to the other?
Could she swim? Did she have any annoying habits, other than being a wise-ass?
What were her hobbies? What games or sports did she like? Was she a health nut?
Did she exercise regularly? By the time she was finished reading, Jess was
surprised he hadn't inquired if she suffered from irregularity, though he had
thought to ask what brand of toothpaste she used, and if she preferred a shower
to a bath.
    To say she was ticked was an understatement. Talk about brass
balls! This guy had to be sporting a pair of stainless steel bowling balls! Her
headache forgotten, or more likely overridden by fury, Jess sat down at her
desk. Within minutes, she was firing a return fax message back to him:
     
    If you think for one minute I am going to answer your asinine
questions, you are certifiably insane. For all I know you'd broadcast my
answers on the Internet. Furthermore, this is not a game of "you show me
yours, and I'll show you mine." I'm only doing this for Tommy, who is on
my black list right alongside you for giving you my fax number. So shove your
questionnaire where the sun doesn't shine, super jock.
     
    As soon as the fax signaled "message sent and received,"
Jess shut off the machine, pulled the plug for good measure, and stomped
angrily back to her bedroom. She'd scarcely put her head on the pillow when her
bedside phone rang.
    Yanking the receiver up, she barked out, "Buzz off, pond
scum!"
    "Oh, come on, Jess." It was him. "We really need to
get to know some of these intimate details about each other if we're going to
convince everyone we're hot for each other. And I'd certainly never put such
information 'on line.' I'm not that much of a cad."
    "How am I supposed to know that?" she countered stiffly.
    "You would, if you'd give me a chance—if you'd cooperate with
me instead of bucking me at every turn. So, how about it?"
    "No way, José. You'll find out on a 'need-to-know basis.'
"
    "And risk blowing the whole scam? What will your dear Tommy
think of that?"
    "Frankly, Scarlett..." her voice trailed off, letting
him fill in the rest.
    "Neither would I, except that I'd like to keep my job, so why
don't you stop being such a prude? These are the nineties, after all."
    "I know the year. Unlike you, I'm also aware of the hour. Good
night. Don't call me