Free Dashing Through the Snow by Debbie Macomber Page B

flippant.
    Now Dash was getting downright irritating. “When did you become an expert on human emotions? I was devastated. Other than classes and work, I spent hours lying on the floor, sobbing and listening to Adele.”
    “How long ago did this happen?”
    She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. “I’m not answering any more of your questions. What happened between Jackson and me is none of your business.”
    “Your pride was stung, but you didn’t really love him.”
    So he was determined to continue the conversation. “You’re not a nice person, Dash.” She didn’t really believe that, but she wasn’t letting him know otherwise.
    “We’ve already established that. Now you know the real reason I’m not in a relationship. I screw it up every time.”
    Aha!
This was promising. “So you’ve had your own share of heartache.”
    “
Heartache.
That’s a woman’s word.”
    “All right, failed relationships.”
    “Better. I’ve had a few.”
    “Did you cheat?”
    “No,” he said, as if it was an insult for her to suggest that he would.
    “Forget her birthday?”
    “M-a-y-b-e.” He dragged out the word, making it sound as if he’d consider that a minor infraction.
    “Come on,” she said, uncrossing her arms and angling her body toward him. “Fess up. Inquiring minds what to know.”
    “Apparently, women want to spend every waking minute with a guy. I can’t stand a clingy woman. Unfortunately, those are the ones who are most drawn to me. I like my space. I need my space,” he reiterated. “I don’t want to answer twenty text messages a day or make an excuse to have a beer with a friend.”
    “Is this friend male or female?”
    “Male.” He tossed her a look that said his answer should have been obvious.
    “Okay, continue.” She gestured with her hand, wanting more details.
    “I don’t want a woman to follow me to the tennis courts and watch my match, or just happen to run into me when I’m out. It’s too much togetherness. Give me room to breathe.”
    “What about men?” she challenged. “They have their own set of issues, one of which is finding a way to keep their zipper in the locked position.”
    “Men’s zippers don’t lock.”
    “My point exactly.”
    He chuckled. “Okay, we can agree men and women each have their own weaknesses.”
    “What you said about giving a man his space is interesting.” She was willing to give him that. “I’ve known women like that.”
    “Unfortunately, so have I,” he muttered. His hand tightened around the steering wheel, “Something else that really gets me is this incessant need to chatter.”
    He was on a roll now. Ashley went quiet as she studied him. While his tone made light of the situation, she could see there was more to it.
    “What?” he asked. “You’re looking at me like I’m Little Blade and you want to pet me.”
    She smiled. “You’re acting like this is a joke, but you were hurt.” This would be much harder for him to admit.
    He didn’t answer for what felt like a long time. “Yeah, I was hurt, but I got over it. You were hurt, too.”
    She nodded and found she didn’t want to talk about her breakup. “And for your information, women don’t chatter,” she insisted, righteously defending all women.
    “Then tell me why they have to discuss every inconsequential detail of their lives and everyone else’s lives, too. I don’t care who got cut from
Dancing with the Stars,
or which celebrity couples are dating. And I’m up to here”—he paused and made a cutting motion over the top of his head—“with Brad and Angelina. If I wanted to know any of this nonsense, I’d read a tabloid.”
    “That tells me you’re dating shallow women. But I’m guessing they’re all really pretty, which also tells me you’re ruled by testosterone.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Okay, I’ll put it bluntly: Your brains are located below your belt.”
    “That’s possible.”
    The snow had started coming