Why wouldn’t she? I’d been a mess of nerves and lust when I’d met with her at the school. I’d kept my reactions to a minimum. I’d been worried about my kid and aroused by his teacher. Hell of a predicament to be in at the elementary school I’d gone to as a kid. I’d become a one-word-response man. No wonder she thought I was faking.
I rose and plucked the rag from her hand. Yes, I was looming over her, and I meant to. “You’re not my son’s pretty teacher anymore.”
She propped a hip against the counter and folded her arms. “Tate, really. You don’t have to turn on the charm. Twenty grand is a lot of money, and it’s not like I’m going to report to Wilna that the date was shitty.”
Genuinely confused, I rubbed the back of my neck. My come-ons had never bounced off a wall before. “Scarlett, I’m not stringing you along.”
She rolled her gaze toward me. “You’re a good man. I could tell when Chance told me about the divorce and why you moved here. I know from the talk around town. And from your family. You’re a responsible man. Your sisters gush about you and how well you helped care for them after they moved in with you.”
I smiled, warmth infusing my chest. I thought the world of my family, and to hear they thought the same went far. But I didn’t want to talk about them. “You think I’m trying to make this date a fairy tale for you?”
She nodded, open acceptance in her eyes.
That wasn’t good enough. “Why don’t you think I’d be interested in you?”
“I’m well over thirty, for one.”
I recoiled like she’d slapped me. “Holy shit. Don’t hold back.”
She held up her hands. “Sorry. It’s just…I listened to the gossip. I’m sorry. I don’t know your life.”
“I wasn’t trolling college campuses asking girls if they’re legal.” Irritation scraped my lungs.
Was that what people said? I liked ’em young? I was forty-two, and sometimes the women I dated were significantly younger than me, but even fifteen years younger put them well beyond the college years. Hell, it put them past the graduate school years. I’d been thirty-seven when I divorced. Had people heard I’d dated a twenty-eight-year-old and thought I was perched over her cradle, ready to snatch her?
Fucking hell.
“I’m sorry.” She was waving her hands, her face fire-engine red. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, really. I’m sorry. I meant to point out that I’m approaching my midthirties. I’m a teacher—I’m not wearing power suits that show off my defined calves or making companies millions in sales.”
Did she know Tamera?
“I embroider the word ‘fuck,’ and that’s the wildest I get.” She opened her mouth again and snapped it shut as if afraid to confess any more.
“I don’t want power suits or parties, and I happen to think your calves are quite nice.” All truth.
“Well, that’s nice of you, but it’s okay. I’m not the life of the party or a boss bitch and I’m okay with that.”
But I was getting the impression other guys hadn’t been. I’d love to throttle them. At the same time, I was glad they were epically mistaken about sweet and sexy Miss Scarlett so I could be the one with her now.
“Are you ready to eat?” she asked.
A cat sauntered out of the back bedroom, mewed, and marched right for me. I clocked her approach—and the way Scarlett jumped up to grab for the cat.
“Sorry.” She lifted the cat, but the tiny feline strained for me.
“For what?”
“Lilith. She loves strangers, and the more apathetic you are toward cats, or especially if you dislike them or are allergic to them, the more she’s attracted to you. I would’ve thought she’d learned her lesson.”
“I like cats.” I’d had a million barn cats that looked like Lilith.
She hugged the long-haired tabby to her chest. “She’s really pushy.”
I held my arms out. “Give her to me.”
She clutched the cat tighter.
“Jesus, Scarlett. Who hurt the cat?”
