“Detective seems a bit formal, given the circumstances.”
“And what circumstances might those be?”
“The circumstances in which I ask you out to dinner, and you accept.”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“You like Mexican food?”
“Mexican food?”
“Beef, beans, cheese, usually combined in some form of handheld corn-based vessel,” he said slowly. “Tacos, burritos, tortillas… Chimichangas, quesadillas, enchiladas…”
“I know what Mexican food is!”
“Apologies. You seemed confused by the concept.” He appeared to be fighting a grin — a battle he was dangerously close to losing, I might add. (I, for one, had no idea what he found so amusing about all this.)
“I am notconfused by the concept.” My eyes narrowed scarily. “You do not have to man-splain Mexican food to me.”
He lost the battle against his grin with a flash of straight white teeth that did something to my stomach. Something that brought to mind the floor routine of an accomplished gymnast. (Read:somersaults.)
“I’d broach the alternative of Thai food,” he said, still grinning. “But I’m concerned you might react poorly.”
This freaking guy!
Shoving down my bizarre urge to laugh, I forced an icy tone. “You must think you’re pretty charming, huh? Using that detective badge like some kind of pickup line at a happy hour bar to lure in unsuspecting women?”
“You?Unsuspecting? You’re about the most suspicious person I’ve ever encountered — and I’ve been on the force nearly a decade.”
“Oh, spare me the knight in shining armor act. I’m not buying it, Hero-Hair,” I half-snarled, doubling down on my anger so it wouldn’t slip away entirely. “Nor am I impressed by you appearing out of the shadows like some guardian angel, descending from the heavens to save me from my shitty life. I don’t need saving. And I definitely don’t need you.”
“Noted.”
My whole body jerked backwards at his easy agreement to my — rather acerbic — declaration. “Noted? Just like that?”
“Sure.” He paused again, his brows doing the little furrowed thing that was annoyingly endearing. “Too bad, though. There’s a great food truck not that far from here. And don’t even try telling me you aren’t hungry. Your stomach has growled at least three times in the ten minutes we’ve been here talking.”
I processed this statement for approximately two-point-three seconds before exploding,“Are youkiddingme?”
“Do I seem like I’m kidding?”
He did not.
In fact, he seemed alarmingly serious.
My chin jerked up. “I don’t know you well enough to answer that question.”
“You would if you went out to dinner with me.”
“I don’t want to go to dinner with you!” I exclaimed. “I don’t even know you.”
“That’s sort of the whole point of dinner.”
I made an incoherent screeching sound, which brought to mind a baby pterodactyl.
“If there’s something you want to know about me, just ask,” he said, unbothered by my outburst. “I’m an open book.”
He honestly was.