I rolled my eyes. “Pretty sure I said you gave a memorable gift to your niece. That observation, coupled with an apology for my misspoken words, makes us even.”
He scoffed. “Not even a little. You know what I really want? Tell me why I’m persona non grata on that list of yours.”
“I should never have discussed that with you.”
“But you did. You needed me to know why I wasn’t in the running. Or more accurately why I was once in play but then my chance was ripped away.”
His chance “ripped away”? As if he would care. Yet there was something about his energy. This really bothered him.
“You were originally on the list because I was being scientific. All men I know of a certain age and health status were included.”
“And then …”
“By process of elimination I weeded people out. As you and I have never gotten along, it made sense to remove you from contention.”
He moved toward me. A low-ceilinged basement like this usually felt cramped, but not to this extent. Not to the size of a postage stamp.
“So you brought your emotions into it.”
“It’s one more variable. Maybe not completely even with other variables, but where all things are equal, that kind of confounding factor is enough to take you out of the running.”
“Fair enough. Let’s talk about the variable. Or confounding factor, the one that’s specific to me. What makes me such a bad prospect?”
Oh, he was taking this very personally. Despite having the science on my side, I no longer felt on solid ground. This conversation had revealed a different side to Jason. Any explanation could only come up short.
“For a start, we rarely seem to be able to converse without it devolving into eye rolls and sneering.”
He crossed his arms. His studly, thick … stop it!
“You do tend to get very facially animated around me,” he said.
“I’m not the only one guilty of this. You scowl at me. Often.”
“Only because you start it.” He held up a hand. “Or maybe I’m predisposed to scowl because I’m bracing myself, waiting for you to unveil your smarty-pants claws and scratch.”
That sounded like a concession, which meant I owed him something similar. Quid pro quo, the building blocks of peace.
“And I might start off on the wrong cloven-hoofed foot because I’m expecting you to be mean.”
That earned me a lip twitch. I had amused him with my self-deprecatory reference. There was something a touch thrilling about being able to provoke this reaction from him.
“Mean? I haven’t a mean bone in my body.”
The man couldn’t pass more than five minutes without another dollop of innuendo. I moved over it, though my eyes did attempt a slight roll, which he caught like a puck on his blade.
“There she goes.”
“You made a dick joke.”
“Your mind has to be fairly deep in the gutter to go there, Francesca.”
Maybe it was. Maybe I was enjoying this much more than I expected. It felt remarkably like flirting, especially when he said my name like that. It had been so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like. The buzz, the anticipation, the knowledge that sex might be on the table.
Or on that chest behind him.
Damn these fertility drugs, sending my hormones into a tailspin. I needed to shift the dynamic, recall the emotions that had guided me for all these years when it came to Jason Isner and his ilk.
He stood mere inches from me. When had he become so close?
