“So youdohave a mischievous side,” she says.
“Of course.”
“I was beginning to think you were some kind of saint.”
He furrows his brows. “Why’s that?”
“You’re just so . . .nice.”
He unfurrows his brows, laughs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s very strange,” she says.
“You don’t have a lot of nice men in your life?”
She considers this. “I find most men to be very egocentric.”
He nods. “They are. We’re socialized that way, told to be tough, hide emotion, win no matter what.”
“I thought you were a lawyer. You sound like a shrink.”
He laughs again. “A wannabe lawyer. Not a shrink. But I was raised by a sociology professor.”
“Your dad is a sociology professor?”
“Ah, see, you just revealed hidden bias, assumingprofessorequals male,” he says. “What if I had saidsociology teacher? Would you assume female?”
She rolls her eyes, hiding her shame behind annoyance with his pedantry. “So yourmotheris a sociology professor?”
He taps his nose with his index finger.
“Well, please thank her for raising you to be a nice gentleman.”
“I will,” he says. “She’ll appreciate that.”
“I can see it now: ‘Hey, Mom, this woman I had a one-night stand with said you’re a good parent.’”
“I was kind of hoping this wasn’t just a one-night stand.”
She sighs, her fear realized. Leave it to her to find the one hopeless-romantic man in existence at a phase of her life when she wants nothing to do with hopeless romance.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, and looks into her eyes. She wants desperately to look away but wills herself to hold his gaze.
“I mean, if that’s what you want, that’s okay,” he says, “but that’s not really my style.”
“Oh,” she says, dumbly. Then: “What’s your style?”
“I’ve honestly never had a one-night stand,” he says.
She is shocked.
“You haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “Like I said, not my style.”
“But I told you I was from out of town,” she says, aware she sounds like she is pleading a case.
“I know. I guess I’m not scared off by a little distance between us.”