He stopped walking so abruptly that it jerked on my arm.
“You want that?” he asked. I couldn’t read what he thought about the idea, not from his tone or expression.
My mouth twisted wryly. “Most women like to be taken out on dates sometimes, Heath. It’s pretty normal.”
He looked thoughtful more than anything, like he was taking it all in. “What would this date consist of?”
Impossible man.
“Dinner. Drinks. Maybe dancing.”
He looked a little horrified by the last suggestion.
It was exasperating. “Jesus, it was just an idea. Hell, just take me out to dinner and a movie. What is the big fucking deal?”
“You pick the movie.”
“I’d be happy to, just so long as you don’t complain when I pick a romantic comedy. You probably only like action flicks, I bet.”
His face was caught somewhere between bewildered and stiff.
I found it endearing that something this mundane was stressing him out.
“I don’t like action flicks,” he finally said. “I hate them. Whatever you like. A romantic comedy is as good as anything.”
I thought that was promising.
“And where would you like to eat?” he asked.
“Surprise me. No fast food, though. I do expect a sit down meal.”
He took in a deep breath, let it out. “I’m just going to pick wrong. If you could tell me where you want to go, we’d both have a better evening.”
I studied him. This was a foreign process to him, I could see that. And so I made it easier on him.
“Okay. I’ll find the right show time, and I’ll pick the restaurant. But you’re driving, mister.”
He flashed his teeth at me in what could only be called a sinister grin. “Of course I am. That was never a question.”
I’d suggested it, but the way he said it was a bit infuriating. I wasn’t the least bit surprised by his statement, though. He would be the type that always had to drive.
He hadn’t even let me hold my own dog’s leash on this walk.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’d taken my cell phone with me on the walk as there were a few clients I was expecting calls from. When it started buzzing, though, and I saw who was actually calling, I cursed.
My fucking ex.
He would call today. Talk about the worst luck in the world.
Or worse, had Deborah already called and told him she’d seen me and Heath?
Dammit.
“What’s the matter?” Heath asked tonelessly. His eyes were on my phone, and I had this strange thought that he knew who was calling.
The lock screen had lit up with EDUARD CALLING, and it was likely he could have read it from where he was standing.
Instead of answering, I was studying him.
He was fascinating to me. Expressionless, toneless, but all of it somehow telling me that he was agitated.
I tried to shake off the suspicion, but it just wasn’t working.
“So how much do you know about me?” I asked him slowly. “How much did you uncover in your . . . background check?”
“I know that’s your ex-husband calling. I know you divorced him because he’s a cheating piece of shit.”
Wow. He’d apparently done his research. I was torn on how freaked out I should be about that.
“Why’s he bugging you?” he asked, through his teeth. “I know you don’t have anything to do with him anymore. What does he want?”
I grimaced. I really hated to talk about this. “He does this every so often, calls to chew me out. He thinks it’s my fault that his sons don’t want anything to do with him anymore. But if I had to guess why he’s calling right now, I’d say it’s because of Deborah, that neighbor you noticed I don’t like. Remember how I said she’d tell my ex about seeing you and me together? I didn’t think she’d work this fast, but here it is.”
My phone started buzzing again. Irritated, I answered with, “What do you want, Eduard?” My tone was biting.
My ex-husband took immediate exception to my tone. “Is that any way to greet the father of your children?” he shot back.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
He cut right to the chase. “How old is he?”
Ugh. He was so predictably unpleasant about everything. Divorce brought out the worst in everyone, but Eduard had sunk to new levels of low over the past year. “Have you been talking to your good friend Deborah?”
“At least older than our sons, I hope?” He was in a mood. Usually he didn’t escalate this quickly into straight asshole when he called. Generally he tried cajoling first.
“Not doing this,” I bit out, already thoroughly annoyed.
“I had no idea you were such a cougar, Lourdes.”
“Not doing this,” I repeated, about a second away from hanging up on him.
“Maybe that’s why we didn’t work out. I was too old for you.”
That was too much. “It’s not a mystery why we didn’t work out. You were sleeping with my ex-best friend.” I caught myself, just barely, from resorting to name-calling.
“You never even let me explain about that!” His voice was close to a shout in my ear.