Chapter 4 #2
“I’ve been doing this a while now. And please call me Skylar.
Also, I owe you an apology.” For the first time, she didn’t look in command.
A pink tinge was creeping up from her chest and neck and into her cheeks, and she was so fair, he could watch the blush happen.
“I should have told you the other night,” she said, clutching a pen in two hands, “that I was Georgia’s teacher.
I knew because of the rats. Your name on the email about the rats, that is.
I recognized it. And I knew that your kids went to school here.
I taught Scarlett, too, though I didn’t meet you then. ”
“You don’t look old enough for that,” he said. “Or sound it.”
“Ha. You don’t live in this head. Sometimes I feel fifty.
” She smiled briefly, as if she wanted to take that back, then sobered.
“But the main thing I have to apologize for is that I spoke about your wife’s death too casually.
I didn’t know anything about your personal life—I don’t follow rugby closely, it’s just that my older son enjoys it—and I just sort of—blurted something out.
Trying to be funny, probably, about the wrong subject.
I wasn’t at my most … my most skilled that night.
I haven’t done much dating. Well, I haven’t done any dating recently, not the new-to-you kind.
I may also be a cyborg. With adults, that is. But I do apologize.”
“Take a breath,” he said, “and let that pen go before you kill it. All’s forgiven.”
She didn’t take a breath. She blew out a breath. And let the pen go. “Sorry,” she said, brushing the curls back and trying to laugh. “I don’t often get things quite so wrong. Was that speed dating thing awful, or what?”
“Awful,” he agreed. “Least your sister didn’t write a column about it.”
“What?” Confusion in the green eyes.
“I was bait. Material. You haven’t seen it? In the Herald. Last week.”
“I don’t have much free time to read. Pity, in this case. You realize that now I have to read it.” The lips curved up more at the thought.
“It was pretty funny,” he admitted. “She has a way with words. And possibly a good subject for it.”
“I’m guessing your teammates had a laugh, too,” she said.
“You could say that.” He shifted. He was stalling.
Why? He was a confident man. “I’m trying to find a casual way here to ask if you’d like to …
dunno. Go for a drink? Start over, possibly.
With more than eight minutes to find out whether we can stand each other.
If we can, we can always make it dinner. Sound OK?”
She hesitated. He said, “Oh. You have a partner? The speed-dating thing was …” Had she been checking out the alternatives, maybe? She seemed much too straightforward for that. If she’d done that, she’d have gone home and confessed immediately. While blushing.
“Who, me?” She laughed. “Not even close. Is that the only reason you can think of that I wouldn’t want to go out with you, though? That’s some opinion you have of yourself.” It could have sounded hostile, but as she was still laughing when she said it, probably not.
He grinned and rubbed a hand over his cheek. “Uh … not sure how to get out of this one.”
“You do realize that it’s grounds for dismissal for a teacher to date her pupil’s parent. ‘Serious misconduct,’ that would be.”
“No. Really? Why?”
“Professional boundaries. So that’s out. Though to be honest, I’d probably have said no anyway.”
“Huh.” He thought about that a minute. “Why?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Excuse me? No man in the world wants a woman to tell him exactly why she doesn’t want to date him.”
“I have a pretty fair ego,” he said. “Ask anyone. And I’m a big target, so go ahead. Seems it’s my week for self-improvement, and a man who can’t take coaching doesn’t get far.”
She laughed helplessly and let her hands fall against her thighs in resignation. “Right. Here we go. Because you’re out of my league? That would be one.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because you’re an All Black and I’m a Year One teacher? Or how about this: because you’ve got that body, and I’ve had three kids? Isn’t there some …” She waved a hand. “Some Olympic gymnast on the hook? Fitness influencer? Black Stick? Stop me when I get close.”
“I’m a rugby player, yeh,” he said. “It’s a job, like yours.
And if we’re talking about bodies—not something I normally do, because I have just enough sophistication not to blurt out my opinion—you’ve got one, too, and it’s pretty choice.
Although you seem to have some white hair on your … ah, trousers.”
She stood up, turned, and swatted at her bum. Which was not the look she should be showing him, she realized belatedly. “I told you,” she said, sitting down again. “Cat. The worst kind: the kind that won’t listen.”
“Is there any other kind?” he asked. “I’m more of a dog man, myself. Farm family. And getting back to the topic, aren’t Olympic gymnasts normally about eighteen? Cheers for that.”
“All right, I apologize for the teenage gymnast. I’ll point out, though, that I also have stretch marks.
” She got a little glow from what he’d said, but what thirtysomething woman wouldn’t have?
“My thighs aren’t what you’d call ‘rock solid,’ either—cellulite, anyone?
—and I’ve seen yours, boy.” Whoops. The ‘boy’ had slipped out there.
“And my sister called me ‘craggy.’” He definitely looked craggy right now.
That face didn’t compromise. So why did she think he was trying not to smile?
“If I remember right, she said I didn’t look too bad despite the craggy thing, if a woman liked ‘the stocky type.’ The fireplug type, is what she meant. How’s that for crushing?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and his tough face broke into a grin, too. “So that’s sorted,” he said. “What else?”
“What else?”
“What else makes me undatable?”
“You’re not undatable. I’m possibly undatable, though.
I told you! I’d be trying to hide it, but I’m not that good at hiding, and I have—” She cast an arm out to encompass her life.
“Kids. Cat. Grandfather. My bedroom is nine square meters, and my bed’s a single.
You probably date—dunno. Not gymnasts, we’ve established that.
Models, though. Actresses. TV presenters.
Whereas I haven’t had sex with an actual man in five years, and I clearly wasn’t that good at it when I was having it, considering that—”
She broke off in horror, because Georgia’s little face was right there, peeking over the top of the desk.
She’d completely forgotten the girl was here.
“Oh, hi, Georgia.” She tried her best for brisk.
“Your dad and I are just finishing up. Time for all of us to go home.” She began putting files into her bag, a bent-over ginger’s excuse for a face that must be scarlet by now.
Why, why, why? Why would a woman meet the most spectacular hunk of manly toughness she’d ever encountered in the flesh and immediately set fire to herself in front of him? Who did that?
She’d told him about her cellulite!
It was imagining what Jess would say when she heard the story that did it.
Her sense of humor got the better of her, and she started to laugh.
Silently. Helplessly. Shaking-your-head, tears-in-your-eyes laughter, her hand over her mouth, staring into Zane’s shocked eyes and trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.
Hopefully he thought she was choking to death, which sounded pretty attractive just now.
“Sorry,” she got out eventually. “It’s just that—” The laughter was there again, trying to get out. “That you’re a social … a social lion, and I’m more of a social …” There she went again. “Warthog. At this moment. Oh, I’m embarrassed. Sorry. Erase this.” She waved an arm. “Delete, please.”
So, not exactly professional.
Oh, well.