The distinct click of her laptop lid closing signals she's finished and is ready to talk. "Honey, come back here and sit. Stop pacing."
"Don't you ever run out of ideas with this writing stuff?" I ask her, crossing the room to sit in her velvet guest chair again, flashbacks of sitting in this exact chair when I was younger and getting scolded for doing one bad thing or another popping into my head.
Her perfect eyebrows rise up. "How can I run out of ideas when love is involved? The possibilities of finding love are endless."
"Well, I haven't found it yet, so you might be wrong. I did find a hot little redhead last night, though, with legs for fucking days."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"The hot redhead?"
Shaking her head, she takes a sip of her lemon-laced water from her signature crystal glass. "No. Love, of course. Remember a few months ago you told me you were tired of all the one-night stands and meaningless sex?"
My long hair falls into my face as I shake my head, and I push it back with my hand. "Did I say that? Love just isn't in the cards for me, Mom. I'm too restless, and I love sex too much. Women want that from me, not love. I'm used to it now. Any time I've even started to have feelings for a woman, I find her blowing someone else. I'm just not the love type."
Opening a drawer in her desk, she pulls out a bright purple folder and lays it in front of her. "I don't believe that for a minute, Talon. All my boys have hearts of gold."
"Not me."
"You just haven't met the right girl yet. You've seen it happen with Asher and Storm. Your girl is out there."
"Well, if she is, then I've probably boned her already and she thinks I'm an asshole by now."
She waves her hand at me. "Hush with that. I've recently joined a team for an amazing project, and I think you are perfect for it."
Lighting up a cigarette, I lean back in the chair, tipping the front legs off the floor, and take a long drag. "Mom, where are we going with this?"
She slides a black marble ashtray across her desk toward me. This is the only room in the house I'm allowed to smoke in because, even though Mom technically quit smoking years ago, every now and then when she's either really stressed or excited about a book, she has a smoke. "I'm getting to it. A good friend of mine is a relationship coach, and she's written countless books on the dynamics of successful relationships. Now, she and a team of psychologists and a sex therapist are conducting a social experiment, and they've asked me to come on board and write a book with them based on the results."
I blow a perfect ring of smoke up into the air between us. "And this has to do with me how, exactly?"
Her gaze follows the ring as it floats and dissipates. "I thought you would want to apply to take part in the experiment."
Narrowing my eyes, I flick my ashes into the ashtray. "Apply? What's involved? I can tell by the look on your face there's a shit-ton you're not telling me. Spill it, Mom."
Smiling, she nods enthusiastically. "I was getting to all the details. You would marry a total stranger that the research group matches you up with based on questions they ask you. You have to commit one hundred percent to the marriage in every way for six months and keep a journal of all of your feelings and experiences. At the end of the six-month term, you give your journals over to the group, and you can either stay married, if the relationship is a success, or part ways. Each participant will also be given fifty-thousand dollars, but honestly, this is not about money. This is about committing to someone and not giving up. It's about finding out if the person who, in theory, should be right for you, really is. And if you can fall in love after marriage, rather than just before."
Her words spin around in my brain like a cyclone. "Are you kidding? That's kinda ass-backwards, isn't it? Marriage is serious shit. Not a fuckin' game."