he had a little attitude, but what the heck? A guy couldn’t survive in his profession without a pair of brass ones.
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug of indifference, or maybe disdain. “I think any man who feels the need to express his insecurities so literally when he hits middle-age is immature.”
Middle-age? Insecurities? He arrowed a glower in her direction. “You think I bought this car because I feel insecure about being closer to forty than thirty?”
She pursed those lush lips and inclined her head in triumph. “Yes, I do.”
Fury hurdled through him. He didn’t bother slowing down for the next light that went from yellow to red before he passed under it.
“I am not,” he said, enunciating each word slowly, precisely, “going through any midlife crisis. I bought this car because I liked it. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my clothes.” He turned onto Hunter Ridge Road. “Or with the occasional meal that includes more than leaves and twigs.”
She smiled patiently, as if completely certain of her assessment. “You date a different woman every weekend. You don’t have time for a social life through the week,” she added, nailing down his personal life in two short sentences. “You tell yourself that there’s plenty of time for marriage and children later. That legitimately explains your single status and leaves you free from having to commit.”
He shook his head. How the hell did she know all that? “What is this? The amateur psychology hour?”
“Am I right?”
Oh, he saw now. This was a trick. She was baiting him to get the answers she wanted. She wanted to know about his personal life—his sex life.
“Am I right?” she repeated, adding extra emphasis to the last word.
“If you want to know how often I have sex, just ask. And besides, what would you call divorcing the man you supposedly loved after five years of commitment?” A four-way stop gave him the opportunity to look directly at her and wait for the answer to his pointed question.
Silence thundered for several excruciatingly long beats.
She wasn’t going to say anything. The dim glow from the dash didn’t allow him to read her eyes completely, but he could see that he’d done what he intended. He had ended what she started. Cut her off at the knees like any good attorney would do. The knowledge gave him no pleasure. In an abrupt epiphany he also realized what he’d given away with his heartless remark—he knew the ink wasn’t even dry on her divorce papers yet. She would know he’d asked about it.
“I’d call it a mistake,” she said finally, her chin quivering slightly.
He held her gaze, hard as that proved in light of the hurt he knew he’d wielded. He wanted to hold her and apologize profusely for what he’d said and whatever the jerk she’d married had done. Disappointment pooled in his gut when he considered her words further. She thought she’d made a mistake. And all this time he’d thought he’d been the one who made the mistake. But then, they weren’t talking about the same mistake.
“The divorce or the marriage?” he asked quietly, unable to help himself from pursuing the subject. He had to know.
She wanted to lie. God, a part of her wanted so badly to deny the truth…to somehow explain it away as something other than a personal failure. The other part of her wanted to hit Zach for even asking.
“The marriage,” she relented tightly. “It was a mistake. But we’re still friends.”
She saw the sympathy flicker in those blue eyes. She was so hopelessly pathetic. She faced front, turning away from what she no longer wanted to see, especially from Zach.
“Sorry,” he said contritely. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay.” She didn’t want to hear what she’d already seen in his eyes.
“Are we through fighting?” he asked softly, too softly.
She continued her stare into the darkness. “I guess so.”
“What are we going to do about our mothers?”
Beth closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about that either. “I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Zach pulled away from the intersection. “I can’t figure it out. Something’s changed though. Mom isn’t behaving like her usual self.”
At a loss to stop herself, Beth studied his handsome profile, her heart doing a little dance in spite of the anger she’d felt at him just moments ago. “Different how?” She wondered if it was anything like her own mother’s odd behavior.
He exhaled noisily. “I can’t exactly pinpoint it, just different. She told me she loved me three times in the space of as many minutes. She was almost clingy.”
Beth knew exactly what he meant then. Colleen Ashton was one of the strongest women Beth knew, her mother included. Colleen had never been one to show her affection with outward gestures. Hers was always an understated way.
“Your mother won’t tell you anything?” he asked as he parked and turned off the engine and lights, leaving nothing but the moon to relieve the darkness that now cloaked them.
“Nothing.”
“We have to get to the bottom of this,” he said, his voice curling around her in the still, dark night. “At their age life is too uncertain to stay mad at each other. Think how one would feel if something happened to the other while this standoff was going on.”
Beth nodded. “What can we do?”
“Just keep plugging away until we figure out what it is that’s caused this kind of damage.”
At that moment Beth wanted more than anything in this world to feel Zach’s arms around her. Further proof that nothing had changed. They could be yelling at each other one minute, then making up the next. “Good idea,” she mumbled, then quickly scrambled out of the car. She would not let her emotions get the better of her again.
Zach followed her up the flagstone walk and to her door. She faced him there, the glow from the outside light pooling around them like a dim spotlight. Good-night would be said right here. She didn’t want him to come inside. She’d had all the Zach stimuli she could handle for one night.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said lamely. Truly pathetic.
“Any time,” he offered in that deep, husky voice.
“Good night, Zach.” The words sounded breathless. But how could they sound any other way with him standing so close and her pulse tripping so out of control? She wanted to back up but the closed door was right behind her, preventing her escape.
When his gaze dropped to her mouth the air evaporated from her lungs.
“Good night,” he murmured.
Slowly, very slowly, he leaned toward her. Her heart pounded so hard she was certain he could hear it. She moistened her lips, in anticipation of his sealing completely over hers.
But
