I’m sure my confusion is obvious. What does that even mean? “Dating up?”

“As in, he’s aware that you’re out of his league and that he’s lucky to have had an opportunity to go out with you at all. Especially with a name like Terry.”

“What’s with everyone ragging on his name? My name is Rian. I sure don’t have a right to make fun of anyone else’s name.” I take another sip of my wine, mostly to keep my mouth and hands busy. Pierce does that chuckle thing. I fight the urge to look at him, and lose. “What’re you laughing about?”

“I think your name suits you perfectly, and I think Terry’s name suits him perfectly, but I don’t think you and Terry suit each other at all, so I’m curious as to how you met and how many times you’ve been out.”

“What is this? Some kind of dating inquisition?”

“Like I said, I’m curious. Especially since you’ll go out with him and not me.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Only by chance.” He props his chin on his clasped hands, giving me his full attention. It’s unnerving. “So back to this Terry guy. I want to know how he managed to get you to willingly go out with him, yet I have to pretty much blackmail you into it.”

“If you must know, I met him through a dating site,” I mutter into my glass.

“Excuse me?”

I glance up to find him staring at me with disbelief.

“Don’t give me that look. Lots of people use online dating sites. It helps weed out the undesirables, and it’s a lot better than the kind of guys I’d find in the bar.”

“Based on what I witnessed the other day, I’m not so sure the site you’re using is doing a very good job at the weeding part, or the matching you up with someone appropriate.”

“Oh? How would you know what’s appropriate for me?”

He lifts a casual shoulder. “I’m calling it how I see it. Terry isn’t a good match for you. Even my sister agrees.”

“Well, you’re wrong about that. Terry and I are a nine out of ten on the compatibility scale.”

He arches a brow. “Is that so?”

“It is so.” Why do I enjoy this tension so much? I avoid guys like Pierce for a reason. I might be attracted to him, but I’m well aware nothing good can come from dating someone like him. Especially if he ever found out about my past and my scandalous family history. The last guy I told couldn’t ditch me fast enough. His excuse? He couldn’t associate with someone who came from a family of thieves. Those were quite literally the words that came out of his jerk mouth.

“And how exactly does one determine a nine out of ten level of compatibility?”

“There’s a test.”

“Of course there is.” He pulls out his phone. “Which site would I find the test on?” He starts thumb typing. “Is it e-Love Forever, or The Right Fish, or oh, what about this one, LoversRUs?”

“It’s none of those.” I shrink down in my seat, my face heating under his scrutiny. “It’s a paid site. Those are better.”

“Ah yes, that makes sense. So Match4Life then?”

I purse my lips and glare.

“Perfect.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open, slipping out a black Amex.

“What’re you doing?”

“Setting up an account so I can take the test.”

“But why?”

“So I can see how compatible we are, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” I don’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he’s making fun of me.

We’re both silent as he fills in the credit card information. Next he completes his general profile. My curiosity piques when he gets to the questionnaire portion of the test. I don’t know what I want more, for the test to come back determining we’re incompatible, or the opposite.

“Height, six two,” he mumbles, “Am looking for, hmm…” He scrolls through the options. “What did you put down here? Hang out? Is that like playing video games in Terry’s basement apartment in his mother’s house?”

“Haha. He has a condo, and he doesn’t live with his mother.”

“So he says. Have you been to his place?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

He chuckles. “Good to know. So just dating then, or did you go with long-term?”

I hold my glass with both hands to keep from biting my fingernails. I feel far too exposed with this line of questioning. “I put dating.”

He quirks a brow but says nothing as he clicks boxes and makes selections.

“You should put athletic for body type,” I say, to be helpful.

“What did you put?”

“Average.”

Pierce’s gaze roams over me in a slow sweep. “There’s nothing average about you, Rian. Terry is average. You are spectacular. Too bad that’s not a category.”

I watch as he types in his profession, a little surprised by his response.

“You’re a lawyer?”

“I am.”

“But you own rental property? Are you a real estate lawyer?” My mouth is suddenly dry, and I try to tamp down on the panic. I don’t go by my given last name. It’s unlikely he’d be able to connect me to my father and the shitstorm he caused almost a decade ago, and Pierce doesn’t look old enough for that to be relevant. But still, it’s another potential red flag. In the past, when people have found out who our family is, it can be painfully embarrassing. Career-wise it could be damaging.

He laughs. “No. I’m a patent lawyer.”

That’s a relief. “Here in the Hamptons?” I wasn’t aware there was much to patent around here, except maybe boob jobs and collagen injections.

“No, I work out of Manhattan most of the time. It’s not a particularly riveting job. Mostly it’s a lot of paperwork and attention to small details. The rental properties are a hobby.”

“How do you manage a hobby in the Hamptons when you work out of Manhattan? That seems like a long commute.”

“I’m, uh, taking the summer off, so I’ll be back to boring patents in Manhattan soon enough. But I like working with my hands, so for now it fits.”

“If patents are boring, why are you going back after the summer?” I press.

Pierce rubs the blue-black nail with the pad of his thumb. “Obligation and financial security are the two primary reasons.”

“Ah, but if those two factors weren’t in the way, what would you do?”

“I’d create and fix things. As a kid, I was always taking stuff apart and figuring out how to put it back together, or making things out of other people’s junk. Drove my dad nuts, but I loved it. Still do, I suppose.”

I glance at his hands; the ones that did all the work on the rental. They’re nice hands, despite the nicks and scabs and the one black nail, or maybe that’s what makes them nice. “Well, you’re good with them.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re getting distracted.” I tap the edge of his phone.

“Right. Well, I think it’s almost pointless to finish. I already know what the outcome is going to be.”

“You think so?”

“Most definitely. The test will determine, without a doubt, that you and I are meant to be, and all this denying me the opportunity to take you on a real date is futile.” He focuses on the test again. “Describe my personality in one word?” He scrolls through the list. “Hipster? Princess? I’m at a loss here since they don’t have asshole as an option. Any suggestions?”