Page 21 of Fierce

“What?” He took a sip of his own wine, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“That was totally pushing,” I informed him. “As if you didn’t know.”

He smiled a little at that. “Can’t help it, it seems.”

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” I said with a sigh. “Neither of us is that good at dating. But I suspect our reasons are different.”

“I wouldn’t say you aren’t good at it,” he said. “If we’re measuring by effect, you’re going well.”

“Uh-uh. You first. You promised.” I was loving this. Flirting, I could deal with.

“Ah. Me.”

“You.”

“Right.” He sighed. “Bad idea, and I know it. But I’ll tell you. I’m rubbish at dates because I don’t do them. I don’t date. I don’t court. I don’t have relationships. I don’t have time or energy for them, and they’re pointless anyway. I have…arrangements.”

“Arrangements.” A little trickle of ice water was making its freezing way down my back now, displacing the warm glow the wine had given me.

“Yes.”

“We’re wasting our time, then,” I managed to say. “You don’t do relationships, and I don’t do arrangements.”

“Could be I’m going to persuade you to change your mind.”

“And could be you’re dreaming, and I should leave right now. Or I’ll say that differently, and tell you that I’m not going to change my mind.” The disappointment pierced me, out of proportion to my investment in the evening.

The waiter showed up with our salads at this most inconvenient of moments, setting them in front of us with more ceremony. They looked delicious, too, served on big, square, chunky plates.

“Butter lettuce with roasted-tomato vinaigrette,” he murmured. “Bon appetit.”

I looked at Hemi again when the waiter had left, and he got the message.

“Well,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I. I’m doing this date. I may not be doing it well, but I’m doing it.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling more cheerful. “You are, aren’t you?” I’d give it one more try, if he were going to try, too.

The salad was exactly as good as the wine, and I focused on that, closing my eyes to taste the tang, to feel the contrast of crunchy and soft, sweet and sour.

I swallowed the bite, my eyelids floated open again, and I sighed. Yes. So worth it.

Hemi wasn’t eating. He was watching me, and I could feel myself blushing. I touched my napkin to my mouth and took another sip of wine for confidence.

“Do you feel every experience so intensely?” he asked.

“Umm...doesn’t everybody, if it’s special? If it’s new, and it’s this good?”

“No.” A light smile touched his lips. “Only the lucky ones. And the luckier ones who get to watch them enjoy it. Who get to bring it to them.”

My heart was beating again, and he seemed to check himself. “But I’m forgetting. Or you’re distracting me. It’s your turn.”

“My turn what?” I couldn’t even object, because all that had been was…hot.

“Why aren’t you good at dating?” he prompted.

So he was going to try. That was hopeful. I took another bite of salad while I thought, then took a breath and put myself out there. “My life’s been a little complicated.”

“Coming out of something bad?” He was frowning now. “Did somebody hurt you?”

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