Page 53 of Rules

"AND you're just now telling us about it?" Auntie Irene joins in on the shock.

"Bad Ruth, very bad." Mary narrows her eyes at me. "OK, so, Sheriff straight-arrow drunk dialed you? The man who gives traffic tickets for going three miles over the limit?"

"The very same." I can't help the small smile that creeps onto my face.

"And?" Auntie leans forward eagerly.

"That's the confusing part." I launch into a recap of the entire bizarre conversation—his slurred words, the meandering talk of ninjas and carousels, his self-deprecation, and finally, the confusing declarations about being bad for me.

"And then there was the shooting call, and I nearly died thinking he was hurt, and when I called to check on him, he apologized about the drunk dial but didn't explain anything. Just said 'maybe we could talk later.' I have no idea what any of it means."

Mary and Auntie exchange a look I can't quite interpret.

"Well, it's obvious he's crazy about you," Auntie says matter-of-factly.

"Based on what? Him telling me he's bad news and I should stay away from him?"

"Men always push hardest when they're afraid of their feelings," Mary says sagely. "Remember Jake from high school? Told me I was too good for him, broke up with me, then cried for a week until I took him back."

"Different situation entirely," I argue.

"Is it?" Auntie raises an eyebrow. "Listen to what he actually said—not what he thinks he should say. 'I miss you.' 'I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years.' 'Clear enough to know I can't have you.' He's not saying he doesn't want you, Ruth. He's saying he thinks he shouldn't have you."

I think about it for a moment. "Well, that's just stupid," I say, just as our food arrives. "Who is he to decide what I deserve?"

"That's my girl," Auntie says, smiling proudly. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

"Do?" I pick at my BLT, suddenly not hungry. "What can I do? He's made it clear he doesn't want to pursue anything."

Mary snorts. "This girl," she looks at my auntie while pointing her thumb in my direction. "No, he's made it clear his soberbrain thinks he shouldn't pursue anything. His drunk brain, which is usually the honest one, wants you so bad he called you at midnight to hear your voice."

"And don't forget, he called you 'Roo,'" Auntie points out.

"But why all the resistance? If he's interested, why push me away?"

"The age gap?" Mary suggests. "He's what, early forties?"

"Forty-six," I correct automatically.

"And you're thirty-three," Auntie says. "Thirteen years isn't nothing, but it's hardly scandalous."

"Especially since you've always been attracted to older men," Mary adds, pointing her fork at me. "Remember Professor Wilson?"

"We agreed never to speak of that again," I hiss, feeling my cheeks heat.

"The point is," Auntie says, steering us back on track, "if age is his excuse, it's a weak one. There must be something else."

"Like what?" I push my plate away, too agitated to eat.

Mary taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, he is the Sheriff. Maybe he thinks dating someone in town would compromise his position somehow?"

"Or maybe he's one of those honorable types who thinks relationships are all-or-nothing propositions," Auntie suggests. "The kind who doesn't want to start something unless he's sure he can finish it."

"Or maybe he's hiding a dark secret," Mary's eyes gleam. "Like a criminal past, or a secret family, or—"

"Or maybe," I interrupt, "he's just not that into me and the drunk call was a mistake."

"Bullshit," Mary and Auntie say in unison.

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