Of course, that was one hypothesis I had to prove to be true. “You need to shine that handsome spotlight of yours somewhere else. You’re not as charming as you think you are. It’s annoying.” And my aggravation came not only because I felt defenseless against him but also that he’d used my curiosity against me. That was something that should only be used for good. Like discovering the perfect long-lasting foundation or lipstick that wouldn’t smudge.
“Sorry about that. I’ll work on improving my charm to meet your exacting standards. But not too much, because I don’t want to ruin things between us.”
“Ruin them how?”
“I wouldn’t want you to fall in love with me.”
Of all the arrogant, self-centered, egomaniacal . . . “Ha, I say. Ha.”
He shrugged. “You’re the one who keeps bringing up how attractive I am.”
I opened my mouth to protest and had to shut it again. I couldn’t object because it would be a lie. “It’s just an objective fact. Like I can see that a Porsche is objectively beautiful, but it’s not for me. Too fast, too flashy. I don’t want to own a Porsche or go for a ride in one.”
“You’re saying you want me to give you a ride?”
I couldn’t help blushing at his innuendo, and I found myself annoyed again. “I’ll take Betty any day.”
“Now you’re comparing my brother to your death trap?”
“That’s not . . . you’re missing the point.”
His grin let me know that had been on purpose.
“You are the worst,” I informed him.
“I am,” he agreed cheerfully.
“You also take way too much pleasure out of annoying me.”
“I do,” he said.
“Stop being so agreeable!” It was hard to be mad at someone who went along with your accusations.
“Sorry,” he said in a way that didn’t sound at all sorry.
He aggravated me, and I enjoyed him at the same time. I didn’t understand the contradiction. “You’re the one who said your competitiveness with Craig will make him fall for me. When that happens, aren’t you worried your competitiveness will make you want to keep me for yourself?”
“No, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.”
Ouch, did that smart. Not that I wanted him to be in love with me, but it still dinged my ego.
He must have seen my expression change, because he hurried to add, “We’ll just make it a rule. I know how much you like those. The rule is I won’t fall for you and you won’t fall for me.”
“Done,” I said before he’d even finished his sentence. Easiest rule to keep ever.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.
“I think I’m owed one,” I responded, especially after everything he knew about me.
He smiled slightly and said, “I’m jealous.”
For a single irrational moment, I thought he meant he was jealous that I liked Craig. That he did want me to have feelings for him instead. But I knew that was ridiculous. “Of what?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever felt about me the way you do about my brother. I’ve never had a woman in my life who would do something like this just to be with me.”
“Have you ever felt that way about someone?”
“Not even close. I’m not sure I think love even exists.”
“Oh, it does,” I told him. “I’ve seen it.”
Marco recognized that I was echoing back his joke from earlier about the TV and smiled again.
“Sounds like dating you is a rough proposition,” I told him, trying to tease him again, but I felt like I’d failed when his smile flattened out.
“So I’ve been told.” That pain was there in his voice again, and all I wanted to do was hug him and tell him that everything was going to be okay. “But I know I dropped a lot on you today, and I wanted to ask you how you’re doing with all of this.”
It was considerate of him to ask, but it felt unnecessary. He’d gotten what he wanted from me—he didn’t need to try to be my friend, too. “It’s fine. I just don’t like change, and this is all going to be a really big change.”
“But you change things at a chemical level all the time,” he said.
“That’s different. There are expectations and knowledge there. Predictability.”
“There are also surprises that turn out to be amazing. Teflon. Penicillin. Superglue. Plastic. Vaseline. All discovered by accident.”
Had he read an article or something? “I know that, and I’m always looking for new combinations and new ingredients, but I have a background and an education. I know what I’m doing and can guess how things will turn out.”
“Ah.” He said that far too knowingly.
Wait, what was that supposed to mean? Were we back to him thinking I was predictable?
He handed me his phone. “Did you want to add any details to your contact info?”
I wasn’t sure what kind of details he wanted. He already knew my number, where I lived, and my name. My email, maybe? I glanced at his screen. “You misspelled my name.” I corrected it, added my email, and handed him his phone back.
“Two Ns in Anna?” he asked. “I thought it was short for Anastasia.”
I had told him about my real name? I must have been really drunk. “Apparently in kindergarten, I insisted on two Ns instead of one, and my parents thought it was adorable, so it stuck.”
He nodded. “I can imagine that you were adorable when you were five.”
My heart started to pound in my chest. What kind of compliment was that? And why was I responding to it like he’d just told me I should be Miss Universe?
A car （not a limo） pulled up outside in the parking lot, waiting just beyond the lobby doors.
“That’s my ride,” Marco said. “Thanks for waiting and keeping an eye on me.”
Ha. As if I needed to protect this very muscular and tall man from anyone. He opened the door for me, and it took me a second to move through it. It was like I just wanted to stay there and talk to him instead of going back home.
The cold January air hit me hard, making my eyes sting a little.
I walked over to the waiting car with him, and he opened the back passenger side door. “I appreciate you meeting with me. I don’t want to keep you from a busy afternoon of whatever hobby you enjoy. Like maybe collecting spores, molds, and fungus.”
He was teasing, but I still sputtered, “I don’t collect . . . it was one time for a science fair project in sixth grade, and I won.”
At that, he laughed and said, “Good luck getting home in that thing. If you get lost out there on the Oregon Trail, set up a signal fire, and somebody will come and rescue you.”
With a wink and a nod, he climbed into the car, and they drove off.
“My car is not a covered wagon!” I yelled after him, but he couldn’t hear me.
Marco Kimball was equal parts enjoyable, amusing, vexing, and infuriating.
What had I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER TEN
I drove home, muttering to myself the whole way about dysentery and the buffalo stampedes that I thought should befall Marco on his trip. Oregon Trail. Betty. Making fun of science and my car. Why did that wind me up so much? They were jokes. My reaction made no sense to me. I blamed it on the traumatic events of the last couple of days.