Ask her how she knows so much about you.

It is certainly thrilling having the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your apartment, however, it is a bit concerning this beauty seems to know a lot of about you and that she doesn't perfectly match Dr. Rorbeck's description of the woman she arranged to go out on this date. At least the parts you think you can remember.

“You seem to know a lot of about me.” You state in a polite fashion. “Have we ever met before?”

The black haired beauty turns her head towards you and gives a contemplative look. “No, we haven't.”

Stepping away from the photos she moves towards you, her drop dead gorgeous body gently swaying back and forth in a seductive manner. When she gets close to you her mere presences feels like a magnet pulling you in, clouding your mind as you try to remain objective.

“Dr. Thompkins has spoken much about you.” She explains as her eyes study you intently. “A few years ago you saved a dear friend of mine when you were volunteering at Leslie's clinic, a girl named Holly Robinson who got beat up in Alleytown. Leslie said that not only your surgical skills saved Holly's life, but the hours you spent tending and talking to her changed her for the good. So when I heard there was a plan to set you up on a date I jumped at the chance. Both to thank you and to see if you lived up to Leslie's praise.”

“I am glad everything worked out for Holly.” You reply, remembering helping out the badly beaten youth, confirming at least part of Miss Kyle's story.

“As for knowing your history . . .” Your date begins to trace her finger down the side of your left bicep, thus making it even more difficult to keep a level head, because when her mere touch causes your heart to race, let alone the effect it is has on your quivering manhood.

“I do admit," she continues, "I did creep on your social media a bit. A girl can't be too careful these days with all the crazies running around." Her eyes flow her finger as it outlines the curves of your arm's muscles. “It was a bit of surprise, however, to find some of the pages you frequent, who knew such a respectable doctor was into such things.”

“What?” Your mind races, trying to simultaneously figure out what she might be talking about, your internet security, and what places you have recently visited.

“Don't worry, Dr. Anderson,” the shapely vixen laughs, “I'm just playing with you. I only went to your hospital bio page and your instagram where you post your photography.”

Flustered, as you try to puzzle out which of the temptresses' lines might be true, you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind to avoid the silence, “I see, good, but please call me David.”

“So doc,” She gives a wicked smirk, “what do you have planned for us this evening?”