asking?” she challenged.
“ Hell , no,” he said, without even a nanosecond’s hesitation.
“Thank God.”
“I’m not your type?”
He almost sounded disappointed, and she wasn’t quite sure why she found that a bit appealing. “I don’t have a type,” she said. “I like doing what I want, when I want. It works for me.”
“I know what you mean. Me too.” He leaned forward on the concrete table—the striation of his biceps noticeable even under the dim glow from the moon. He tapped her ring finger. “So why the ring?”
He noticed. She wiggled her fingers. “This? My dad gave it to me when I turned sixteen. It fits on this finger best. And it’s not a bad way to keep guys at arm’s length if they are the type on the prowl for a single gal to turn into their happy homemaking bride.” She caught his gaze. “Or the kind that will be gone the next day anyway.”
He leaned back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You seem like the latter.”
“Well, I’m definitely not the first one. Not looking for a bride. But I’ll be here through at least next weekend, so I’m not the latter either.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “So . . . the ring. Good idea. And way more subtle than the ‘Stay Ten Feet Back’ sign I usually hang around my neck. Maybe I need one of those.”
She scrunched her nose. “I’m not so sure diamonds and sapphires would be a real good look on you. In fact, might send the wrong message altogether.”
“Don’t think I could carry off the gems, huh? Well, maybe just a band then.” He gave her a wink, and she liked that he thought he could match her wits for wits. But she had her doubts that he could. “You always a smarty-pants?” he asked.
“I may have been accused of that a time or two . . . or twenty before.”
“Cute as you are I guess you can get away with it.”
Was he flirting? Or just a kindred spirit? “You think I’m cute?”
“I said it, didn’t I?” He turned and watched his friends. Shaking his head. “I used to think I knew these guys as well as I know myself, but things are changing now that Jackson is getting married.”
“Maybe you’re next.”
“No, ma’am.” He took her hand in his and stroked the ring on her finger. “I like the idea of a woman independent enough not to want to be tied down.”
“That sounds like a man who has had his heart broken.”
“Don’t need a broken heart to know you don’t want one. I’m a solitary man. I like it that way.”
Megan wasn’t sure how to respond to his very serious tone. So she kept her mouth shut. Wasn’t so far from her own beliefs anyway, so who was she to judge?
The tension in his jaw eased and a slight smile teased the corners of his mouth. “So, Megan-who-wears-a-ring, I get the feeling you don’t like me so much.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“My point exactly. So, do I remind you of someone? Did I say something wrong?”
His honesty caught her off guard. And the truth was she didn’t even have an answer. Not a good one anyway. “No. I’m not even sure why, but you’re right. My guard went up. I can’t put my finger on it. You gonna tell me what it is I’m feeling?”
“Hell, no. The day I start pretending to know what’s on a woman’s mind, you may as well send me to the crazy house.” He waved a finger back in forth in the direction of her head. “No telling what the heck is going on up in there.”
She laughed. A real hearty laugh that ended in a little snort. “Sorry. I do that sometimes.”
“It’s kind of cute.”
“That’s twice you’ve called me cute. Stop that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And all that ma’am stuff. What is that all about? We’re the same age.”
“I was brought up by a good old Tennessee gal who believed that ‘yes and no, ma’am,’ was the proper way to show respect, and I guess it just stuck.”
“I was brought up that way too. But I’m not going to call you sir.”
“Fair enough.