I could apologize. But I don’t.
“Tell me something about yourself. Something one of your girlfriends would know about you,” I say, changing the subject. We’re here to get to know each other, right?
“I don’t have girlfriends.”
I send him a disbelieving look. Seriously? The man is gorgeous, even if he does know it, and rich. He’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, but I’msure there are plenty of women who would line up to stake their claim on him anyhow.
“Your turn,” he says.
“That’s what you’re telling me as your thing? That you don’t date? What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I never said I didn’t date. I said I don’t have girlfriends. And yes. I answered your question. Same question back to you.”
He’s such a dick.
I huff. “Okay, I grew up outside of Denver, Colorado.”
“Do you do any winter sports?”
“No. Winter sports are pretty expensive, whether you own your gear or rent. We didn’t really have the money for that when I was growing up.”
His brow ticks, but he doesn’t make any comment about that. I had an idyllic childhood, so it isn’t like I’m embarrassed by our financial struggles. We were solidly working-class. No shame in that.
“What brought you to Boston?”
“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s three questions. Back to you.”
He pauses to think about it. “My parents divorced when I was little, but they stayed friendly, so that made it easier for me to bounce between them.”
“Did either of your parents remarry?” I ask.
He glances at me, one brow raised. “My turn for a question.”
“Uh-uh. I answered two of yours,” I smile at him, not wiping the smugness off my face.
His eyes darken, but he plays along. “They both did.”
Technically, he answered my question, but this would be so much easier if he gave me anything else. Does he like his stepparents? Does he have any stepsiblings?
“How did you get to Boston?” he asks again.
“I hate to disappoint you, but if I gave you three guesses, you’d get it in the first,” I tell him with a shrug. “College. I came here for Boston University and never left.”
“Accounting degree, right?”
“Obviously.” I don’t keep the snark out of my voice. “What are your stepparents like?”
He stares at me for a long minute. I can’t decipher the look on his face. He’s like a blank slate, and for a moment, I think he’s going to refuse to answer.
“Okay, where did you go to college?” I ask instead, changing the question to one that he might actually answer.
Damian swallows, the column of his throat bobbing in a distracting way. “No,” he says finally. “You asked about my stepparents. I’ll answer.”
I eat my dinner like I’m not waiting on bated breath. He seems totally unaffected on the outside, but the storm in his eyes tells a different story. A story I suddenly really want to hear.
“My mother fell in love and remarried when I was about seven, I think. Bruce is fine. He treats my mother right, which is all I can ask for. He’s a little too jaunty for me, but as long as she’s happy.”
A small laugh escapes me. I can’t imagine jaunty being up Damian’s alley. “And your dad’s wife?” I prod and then immediately feel bad. Damian’s eyes turn dark, his lips pulled down in a frown. Whoever she is, he isn’t a fan, that much is clear. I’m about to change the topic, just so I can see that little bit of light behind his eyes again, when he speaks.
