was her teacher’s voice again, and Tyler saw that he’d made her truly angry, though she was trying to hide it. He watched as she slammed bowls onto the table, then practically threw the spoons next to them.
“What are you drinking?” he asked cautiously, waiting to see if she would end up throwing something at him.
“I’m drinking milk. You can find yourself something in the refrigerator.”
He did. Milk.
After sitting down to eat in perfect, strained silence, he ventured, “I’m sorry...?”
“You’re not sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I just didn’t know if you would want me to speak to you. I, ah, seemed to have hit a nerve.”
Carlie sighed, dropping her face into her hands.
Tyler had the awful suspicion she was going to cry. In a near whisper, he asked, “Carlie?”
Her shoulders shook, and Tyler’s heart stopped. “Aw, Carlie don’t. Sometimes I just stick my foot in it. You shouldn’t pay any attention to me. Really. Carlie?”
She slowly raised her head. A wicked grin spread across her features. One look at Tyler and she broke into peals of laughter. He fell back against his chair, glaring at her.
“Oh, Tyler. You didn’t hit a nerve, honestly.” She chuckled again, then removed her glasses to wipe her eyes. “Actually,” she put in, obviously intent on controlling her hilarity and not entirely succeeding, “you’re finally acting exactly as I thought you would.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
He felt the sting of her insult, deliberate, he was certain. “So, you assumed all along that I was a jerk? Is that it?”
“Not a jerk. Not really. You’re an okay guy. But you think you can make up your own rules and everyone, especially females, will abide by them. You deliberately provoke me, and you’re purposely outrageous. You don’t even try to follow normal codes of manners or behavior. And why should you? Women relentlessly fall at your feet, despite your attitude, so why should you change to accommodate polite society?”
He didn’t like having her categorize and analyze his faults as if he fell into an expected mode of “male behavior.” “All this lecturing simply because I commented on your weight?”
“Because you felt it didn’t matter if you were rude. After all, I’m not a woman you’d aspire to sleep with. You have no personal, sexual interest in me, so why go out of your way to be charming? There wouldn’t be any benefit, now, would there?”
He studied her, his eyes probing. Damned if he wasn’t letting her get the best of him, again. So far, that was how it had been. She consistently sliced him up, verbally at least, while he was sitting there admiring her. Laughing with him was one thing, but Carlie was actually laughing at him. It was intolerable. “I’ll be honest with you. For some inexplicable reason, I’m intrigued by you.”
Her eyes widened enormously, and she choked on a breath. Her amusement was instantly, and completely, gone.
He waited impassively until she’d regained her breath. “I’ve decided it’s because you’re so damned mysterious.”
She sent him a wary look, then shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “No. No, I’m not. I’m an open book. You simply refuse to accept there’s a woman who isn’t bowled over by your charm.”
He pretended she hadn’t spoken. “What does your body look like? That’s what I’m wondering. How plump are you? How big are your breasts, how bountiful is your bottom? I’m used to looking at a woman and seeing what’s there, be it attractive or not, not this infuriating guessing game, trying to see beneath layers of ugly clothing.”
Very slowly, Carlie laid her spoon by her bowl. She stared at him, then tightened her mouth. “You’re terribly spoiled. You think nothing of going for the jugular just so you can win. All right. So I’m overweight.” She lifted one shoulder in a stiff shrug, holding his gaze. “It runs in my family. And flaunting my body would be a bigger crime than hiding it. But so what? I don’t need a man’s approval to feel good about myself. I’m a very nice person, and I do a very good job, and I care. About this community, about the children, about people in general. Can you say the same, Tyler? So you’re handsome. So what? What real contribution have you ever made to your own small part of the world?”
He spooned up a bite of stew, saluting her with it before putting it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, feeling her simmer beside him, her anger growing with his nonchalance. Finally, knowing he’d pushed her far enough and sensing that she was ready to throw her stew at his head, he said, “You do a good job of going for the jugular, as well. I can’t think of a single important thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I don’t do bad things, either, discounting my comment on your weight, of course. I pay my taxes on time, I don’t drink and drive, I donate to charities—although, only when they actually catch me. I’m a gentleman and I’m kind to older people. Surely all that counts for something?”
“Not much.”
“Come on, Carlie. Can’t you forgive me? I was only curious, after all, not being deliberately insulting. If I was too nosy, well it’s only because I think you could be very attractive. No, don’t make rude noises at me again. You are intelligent, very intelligent. That’s something to be admired. If you made a little effort with your appearance, you might have plenty of equally intelligent men knocking your door down. You would probably have a very busy social schedule.”
“I don’t have time for a...busy social schedule.”
“It’s not a disease, you know. You’re a fun person to be with. You should be involved with someone special.”
Carlie tilted her head back to survey the ceiling. Without looking at him, she asked, “Why do you care, Tyler? I’m not some bird with a broken wing you need to teach to fly. I don’t want to fly. Walking is much more my speed.”
“I have an idea,” he announced, very pleased with himself.
“Oh, no. Now we’re in it deep.”
He laid his palms flat on the table, and raised himself out of his chair to loom toward her. “Date me.”
Carlie eyed him as if he’d grown a second head. As she kept him waiting, he reseated himself, tapping his fingers on the table. “Well?”
“I’m waiting for the punch line.”
“All right. Here it is. You might like it. You might enjoy my company.”
She made a show of stifling her laughter. “You should get paid. You’re a professional.”
“Professional what? Or should I ask?”
“Comedian, of course.”
“I’m being serious here. The least you could do is listen to me.”
“No, the least I could do is make you go home and take your insanity with you.” She seemed almost angry—and
