His arms cross. “Why do you think that?”
“Please, the women you date are practically supermodels.” I shake my head. “I’m…well…I’m an accountant. The last guy I dated thought going to aStar Trekconvention constituted a good time.”
“What do our past dates have to do with us?”
Why is he pushing on this? I’m so confused and he’s not giving me any processing time. I blow out a breath that sends a lock of hair flying. “Why are you doing this? You know what I mean. When people see us together, they’re not going to believe I’m taking pity on you.”
His frown turns positively fierce. “Why do you underestimate yourself like that?”
Frustration is a rapid beat against my ribs. See, this is why I never talk about this, because people don’t understand. “I’m not underestimating myself. I’m a realist.”
“That’s bullshit.” His harsh tone makes my shoulders straighten. He points at me. “You’re convinced you’re ordinary because that’s what your family wanted you to be. But trust me, Abby, ordinary is not who you are.”
I admit that being compared to Eden warped my self-perception, I can accept responsibility for that, but it doesn’t change who I am. Why can’t he just accept that I’m okay with it? I bite my lower lip before appealing to his common sense. “I’m quiet and bookish.”
He has the gall to laugh. “Please. You may be smart as hell, but you’re not bookish. Oh sure, you wore all those drab clothes—which, by the way, don’t look so bad to me in light of your current wardrobe choices—but you couldn’t ever hide your smart-ass nature. The only thing that’s changed is your exterior now matches who you are on the inside. And for the record, you’re not quiet. Hell, half the time I’m worried someone’s going to send the cops after me because they think I’m beating you, you scream so loud.”
A hot flush spreads over my chest. Okay, maybe sometimes I do get a little loud. But still, I have a point. Stubborn, I tilt my chin. “There may be a kernel of truth in what you’re saying, but don’t pretend we’re in the same league.”
“You’re crazy.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “This is what I get for getting involved with a pragmatic accountant.”
The statement seems to be to himself so I don’t comment, choosing instead to pick at the corner of my sandwich.
With a long, put-upon sigh, he scoots his chair back under the table and places his elbows on the wood surface. “Okay, you need some sort of proof since my word isn’t good enough.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up his hand to silence me.
“We’ll deal with your lack of trust. For now, let’s stick to the point at hand. When I took you to the party last week, no one questioned why I was with you.”
“I’m sure they were being polite.” My tone is prim and my stomach flips over. I’m ready for this conversation to end.
He scoffs. “You don’t know firefighters. We practically live together, and they’re never polite. If they wondered what I was doing with you, they would have asked me why I needed to take my charity fuck out in public.”
That stops me cold and I raise a brow.
A cocky smile splays over his face. “Do you want to know what they did say?”
The mature, sensible part of me wants to say no, but another part of me can’t help but wonder. In an attempt to be casual, I shrug.
“You don’t fool me.” He slides his fingers around my wrist, his thumb stroking the pulse point. “Let’s see, Trevor would have stolen you right out from under me if given half a chance. Then there was Bobby, who couldn’t stop talking about your killer body. Oh, and Danny asked me if I’d be interested in a threesome.”
“Oh!” A smile quivers on my lips, and I straighten all proper like in my chair.
“Now I’ve got your attention.” He chuckles, his grasp turning into a vise grip. “For the record, Trevor wouldn’t have gotten two steps with you, I told Bobby to shut the fuck up, and I willnevershare you, so get that idea right out of your wild little mind.”
The grin grows until my cheeks hurt. Is it possible we might match after all? I press my lips together before offering demurely, “I wouldn’t do that.”
I mean, sure I might think about it for a half second, but I wouldn’t do it.
Like a bolt of lightning, he shoots out from the chair, causing it to skid across the floor. He hauls me up, and my heart pounds at the expression on his face. With a sweep of his arm, he pushes the plates to the floor. Dishes crash and clatter around us as he puts me on the table.
That intense, territorial gleam is back in his dark brown eyes. “Damn straight you won’t.”
I can live with that.