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Ella caught a flash of pain reflected in those gorgeous eyes before it was quickly masked. "Moms bake them the best. If I was Luke, I'd be pretty happy right now. You're a good mom."
Pleasure ran through her but she fought it off. "How do you know?"
He shrugged. "Just do."
"Thanks. You look nice. Going somewhere fun?"
"Got a date."
"Oh, that's nice." Why did she keep saying the word nice? And why were her palms suddenly sweating and her heart beating fast? She was in her own house, for goodness sakes. "I'm sure you'll have a good time."
"Yeah. Rather be here, though. Bake some cookies, hang out and watch a movie."
She laughed then. "If you had my life, that would be your routine every weekend. Somehow, I think yours is more glamorous."
That assessing gaze swung back to her, taking in her disheveled appearance. She fought a blush, refusing to apologize for being real in her own place. "Have you dated since you split up with Luke's father?"
He seemed surprised by his direct question. She was even more surprised when she answered. "No. It's hard. I wanted to make sure Luke was ready, and then I just got too busy. I wouldn't leave him alone at night anyway."
"I'd watch him for you."
She jerked back. Blinked. "You'd watch Luke for me while I went on a date?"
"Sure. We're neighbors. He seems like an easy kid. I know it must be hard, so I'd do you a favor."
It all came clear then. Her lips pursed in disapproval. "Oh, I get it. A favor for a favor, huh? I give you an extra credit assignment or a grade boost and you watch my son?"
She expected guilt or denial, but pure disgust flicked out at her in waves. "That's a crappy thing to say. Why are you so damn prickly all the time? I'm just trying to be nice."
"But you want me to give you an extra credit assignment?" she pushed.
He threw up his hands. "Hell, yes! I want to pass your class. But I'm not doing nice stuff for you just to get a better grade." He raked his fingers through his hair and she watched the strands settle right back in perfect disarray. "I may have thought that before, okay? But I swear it has nothing to do with your class. It's separate. We're neighbors, I respect you, and the offer stands."
Warmth flooded through her. He was honest. He seemed nice to her son. And even if he was screwing up with her class, he was open to do the work necessary to pass and graduate.
She had the perfect project for him.
Ella nodded. "Fair enough. I'll send you the details of the project in your e-mail on Monday."
"Really?" He stared at her with suspicion. "You're not setting me up or something, are you?"
She smiled. "No. To keep it fair, I'll offer it up to anyone else in the class who wants to bring up their grade."
He studied her face for a while. "It's going to be bad, isn't it?"
"Let's just say you'll learn a lot."
"God help me," he muttered. "But I won't look a gift horse in the mouth."
She winced. "If you want to boost your grade, stop using cliches in speech and written language. It's unnecessary."
"Yes, ma'am."
She shook her head at his mocking tone, walked to the door, and opened it. He yelled good-bye to Luke and she stepped out with him to study the block. "Looks like everyone is back on. Thanks again for--"
"Connor!"
She turned her head. A gorgeous redhead strolled down the street, her three-inch Michael Kors boots clicking on the pavement. She was wearing one of those trendy hats that made Ella look ridiculous, along with clinging leather pants, a leather jacket, and some sparkly T-shirt. Connor raised his hand in the air.
"Hi, darlin'! Be right there."
The model nodded agreeably, crossed her ankles with easy grace, and waited like a trained dog.
Connor smiled. "Sorry. That's my date."
Ella blinked. Together, they'd look more dazzling than any Ken and Barbie couple on the planet. "You didn't pick her up?"
"No. She wanted to pick me up."
Of course she did. Ella looked back and forth between them. Irritation scraped her nerve endings. "And you let her? Don't you think that's rude?"
He shrugged. "No, women like to be independent."
"She's waiting for you outside, in the cold, like a trained seal? You think that's independent?"
"Sure. I let her pick the restaurant, too."
"Is she also going to pay the bill?" Ella asked sarcastically.
Connor looked affronted. "I always pay. Look, women like to call the shots. Give them attention and some compliments and they thrive. It's simple. Not rocket science."
"Do you always date beautiful women?" she asked slowly.
"Sure. We both get what we need, and things are kept...simple."
Coldness washed over her, erasing the slight glow from seconds before. Connor Dunkle was an ass. He treated women like playthings, concentrating on the surface, rarely taking time to dive underneath. The quick pang of hurt surprised her, but she buried it and got real. Yes, he was a sexually attractive man that sent her hormones on a roller coaster ride, but he was immature, and there had never been a question of anything more between them then professor/student or neighbor to neighbor.
"Understood." She separated herself by backing into her warm, safe house, alone with her son. "Have fun."
After she shut the door, Ella couldn't help but peeking out the window. The leggy female walked toward him, pressing a kiss to his lips, laughing at something he said. They both climbed into a low-slung red sports car like the fabulous couple they were and tore off into the night for their glamorous date.
Depression threatened but she fought it back. She absolutely refused to let herself feel bad that she wasn't out on the town, pretending to be someone she wasn't with a man who couldn't care less.
She raised her voice to call her son and concentrated on cookies.
Chapter Seven
"A divorce is like an amputation: you survive it, but there's less of you."--Margaret Atwood
Connor hated Valentine's Day.
It was the only holiday structured toward the demise of men.
He muttered under his breath, pulling on his winter jacket. In the middle of the darkest month of the year, society created it for commercial reasons only. They got to jack up the price of flowers, chocolate, and dinner bills in the name of love. A complete breeding ground of discontent for women not getting what they wanted, while the poor bastards they were with scratched their head in confusion.
Another great reason not to have a relationship.
Or maybe he was just in a bad mood because he still hadn't gotten laid.
Why hadn't he slept with Tracey? The date had been perfect. Dinner, cocktails, flirting. Her offer to join him wasn't wrapped up in heavy analysis or layers of meaning. Yet, as he opened his mouth to answer, "Hell, yes!" he told her it wasn't a good night but he'd call.
His date had ended with him and his hand. Not the image he'd pictured.
Something was wrong with him. Tracey was gorgeous, and had proved to be a good lover in the past. He had a little black book that bulged with numbers and he still wasn't using it to call anyone. Maybe his overworked mental state was affecting his drive for sex? Usually, he looked at a pair of perfect boobs and was ready to go. Lately, he got lukewarm.
Except when he was around Ella. A woman he was completely not attracted to, yet his body responded to like a switch had been flicked. A woman who barely allowed an inch of naked skin to show. That was plain scary.
He remembered what she looked like when she opened the door. A total mess. Yet, instead of focusing on the cookies in her hair or her misshapen sweater, he'd noticed her lack of glasses and hypnotic eyes. He'd noticed the scent of sugar and candy, and her pretty bare feet with pink toenails. He'd noticed the tumble of luscious dark waves that spilled over her shoulders. He'd noticed the clinging Lycra emphasizing her lean calves.
He was nuts. Around the bend. Loco. All the cliches Ella hate
d.
He grabbed his gloves and tried not to think of her. Since that night, she'd sent over the extra credit project, and Connor had wondered if it was worth it. It was as bad as he imagined.
Woolf. Bronte. Austen. Not separate, but all together in one big mishmash of readings and a big fat paper due at the end of the semester. She was punishing him, and he knew it. He dipped a toe in the water--another damn cliche--and began perusing A Room of One's Own by Woolf and was stopped cold.
Yep, more feminist fiction. More whining and "poor me, we're under men's control and we hate it" philosophy. But damned if he wasn't going to kick ass on this assignment and graduate. Even if it killed him.
