I groaned.
“Well, obviously, you’re beautiful,” he said, ignoring this. “And that, I have to admit, was what first got my attention at the dealership that day. But then, I must say, it’s your confidence that really did me in. You know, so many girls are always insecure, wondering if they’re fat, or if you really like them, but not you. Man. You acted like you couldn’t have given less of a shit whether I talked to you or not.”
“Acted?” I said.
“See?” I could feel him grinning. “That’s what I mean.”
“So you’re attracted to the fact that I’m a bitch?”
“No, no. That’s not it.” He shifted his weight. “What I liked was that it was a challenge. To get past that, to wriggle through. Most people are easy to figure out. But a girl like you, Remy, has layers. What you see is so far from what you get. You may come across hard, but down deep, you’re a big softie.”
“What?” I said. Honestly, I was offended. “I am not soft.”
“You bought me plastic ware.”
“It was on sale!” I yelled. “God!”
“You’re really nice to my dog.”
I sighed.
“And,” he continued, “not only did you volunteer to come over here and teach me how to properly separate my colors from brights—”
“Colors from whites.”
“—but you also stepped up to help solve our power bill problem and smooth over the differences with the guys. Face it, Remy. You’re sweet.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
“Why is that a bad thing?” he asked.
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s just not true.” And it wasn’t. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but sweet had never been one of them. It made me feel strangely unnerved, as if he’d discovered a deep secret I hadn’t even known I was keeping.
“Okay,” he said. “Now you.”
“Now me what?”
“Now, you tell me why you like me.”
“Who says I do?”
“Remy,” he said sternly. “Don’t make me call you sweet again.”
“Fine, fine.” I sat up and leaned forward, stalling by pulling the candle over to the edge of the table. Talk about losing my edge: this was what I’d become. True confessions by candlelight. “Well,” I said finally, knowing he was waiting, “you make me laugh.”
He nodded. “And?”
“You’re pretty good-looking.”
“Pretty good-looking? I called you beautiful.”
“You want to be beautiful?” I asked him.
“Are you saying I’m not?”
I looked at the ceiling, shaking my head.
“I’m kidding, I’ll stop. God, relax, would you? I’m not asking you to recite the Declaration of Independence at gunpoint.”
“I wish,” I said, and he laughed, loud enough to blow out the candle on the table, leaving us again in total darkness.
“Okay,” he said as I turned back to face him, sliding my arms around his neck. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I already know why you like me.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yep.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “So,” I said. “Tell me.”
“It’s an animal attraction,” he said simply. “Totally chemical.”
“Hmm,” I said. “You could be right.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway, why you like me.”
“No?”
“Nope.” His hands were in my hair now, and I was leaning in, not able to totally make out his face, but his voice was clear, close to my ear. “Just that you do.”
Chapter Eleven
“This,” Chloe said as another bubble rose up and popped in her face, “is disgusting.”
“Stop,” I told her. “He can hear you, you know.” She sighed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. It was hot, and the black asphalt of the driveway made things seem positively steamy. Monkey, however, sitting between us in a plastic baby pool up to his haunches in cold water, was totally content.
“Get his front feet,” I said to Chloe, squeezing more shampoo into my hand and lathering it up. “They’re really dirty.”
“All of him is dirty,” she grumbled as Monkey stood up and shook again, sending soap suds and dirty water over both of us in a wave. “And have you looked at these nails? They’re longer than Talinga’s, for God’s sake.”
Monkey stood up suddenly, barking, having spied a cat working its way through a row of hedges on the edge of Chloe’s yard. “Down boy,” Chloe said. “Hello? Sit, Monkey. Sit.”
Monkey shook again, dousing us both, and I pushed down on his butt. He sat with a splash, his tail flopping over the side. “Good boy,” I said, even though he was already trying to stand up again.
“You know, if my mother were to show up now I’d be homeless,” Chloe said, spraying Monkey’s chest with the hose. “Just the sight of this mangy beast within spitting distance of her prized Blue Category Chem Special would give her an aneurysm.”
“Blue Category What?”
“It’s a kind of grass,” she explained.