have no right to ask such personal questions! I haven’t asked that of you.”
“What do you want to know?” he asked, spreading his hands wide.
“I don’t see any need to discuss our past lives. My sisters won’t ask questions about your past.”
“Then they’re mighty unusual women.”
“If they do, I’ll tell them it’s none of their business, nor mine, either, for that matter.”
He leaned forward, and even with the table between them she found herself pressing against the back of the booth.
“You’re telling me even if we were really engaged, you wouldn’t ask about my past partners? You wouldn’t even want to know about my ex-wife?”
Shocked out of her self-consciousness, she leaned forward. “You’ve been married? You must’ve been very young.”
For the first time in a while, he was the one to seem ill-at-ease. “Yeah.” He busied himself with his napkin.
“See? It’s uncomfortable to be grilled by a stranger,” she pointed out.
“I wasn’t grilling you!” he snapped. “It seemed to me you haven’t spent a lot of time with men, but if you were a virgin, I—”
“I’m not. We’ve established that. And I told you I hadn’t dated much. So, we can move on.” She certainly hoped they would. She was tired of turning a bright red every time she talked to this man.
Silence followed. Okay, so they didn’t have anything in common. Well, they had the school. She’d talk about school. “How was your day? What play are you working on now?”
He didn’t look enthusiastic. “Um, Shakespeare. We’re doing a Shakespeare play.”
“Oh, really. I thought you were going to skip him this year since you just did a Molière. I heard you were going for contemporary comedies to tempt a younger crowd.” She stared at him curiously. There had been a big debate on campus, the classics versus the popular.
“Oh, you mean our production. Right, of course. I thought you were referring to my classes. We’re working on Shakespeare in class, but our—our public presentation is a contemporary.”
“Which one?”
He looked a little lost, and she stared at him.
“I believe it’s a Neil Simon. Yes, a Neil Simon. He’s a very good writer, you know.”
Her lips twitched. Did he think she was an idiot? “Yes, I heard,” she said smoothly.
Now he blushed bright red. She loved turning the tables on him.
“Of course you have. I didn’t mean to imply— I was embarrassed because I couldn’t think of the name of it.”
“It’s not a test, James,” she assured him kindly. “I thought you would be involved in it, that’s all.”
“Not yet. I’ve had too much to do for my classes.”
“How many hours do you teach each week?”
He more easily fielded that question. “Nine.”
“And you also take classes? That’s a heavy load. Are you sure you have time for—for our nonsense?”
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