The light in his eyes went out again. “Busy with the mortuary? How’s that going?”
“Owen Twombley is an aspiringactuary. No dead bodies in actuarial science, fortunately. They’re more like sexy statisticians.” I pulled out my phone.
Still nothing from Owen.
“Why do you call him by first and last name like he’s a person of interest in a murder case?”
I sighed and stuffed my phone back in my pocket. “Because he’s about to fall in love with me, and I’m getting used to the way ‘Twombley’ feels in my mouth. Thanks for asking.”
His head tilted to the side. “Is he aware he’s the mark in your patented man-catching system?”
“You make it sound like there are nets and hounds involved. I’m simply making myself mysterious and, thus, irresistible.”
“You run your life like the navy, Beekman. I know exactly where you are at any moment of the day. You’re the least mysterious person I’ve ever met.”
My head whacked against the headrest as we lumbered over a series of mini potholes. “Okay. Ouch,” I said, feeling the Smirnoff Ice from earlier in the night bouncing in my esophagus.
“What? It’s true.”
“No, no. Please, continue listing everything unattractive about me.”
“Why is that unattractive?” he asked, fighting with the steering wheel over the rough terrain. “You’re steady and straightforward. You’re honest and stand behind what you say. Easy to read. You’re like a clock.”
“A clock?” I asked, because it was possible I’d entered a fugue state triggered by humiliation and had misheard him.
The car threw us from side to side like we were rag dolls as he doubled down, telling me, with a straight face, “Everyone needs clocks.”
“Stop. I can’t hear the word ‘clock’ again or I’m going to be sick.”
“Are you carsick?” Alarm rang through his gruff baritone. “Are you okay? Should I pull over?”
“I’m fine,” I gritted out, stabilizing myself against the bucket seat so I could look him in the eyes. “We’re fighting now, by the way.Thisis a fight.”
“Come on, Chuck.”
“Don’t youChuckme. You’re not getting out of this by being all charming. You said I was predictable—”
“I don’t remember using the word ‘predictable.’ ”
“—you called me unattractive and compared me to aclock—”
“I definitely didn’t say ‘unattractive,’ ” he cut in.
“How would you know?” I said. “You apparently have no memory of calling me predictable.”
We barreled over another pothole. It sent my stomach straight to my face.
His eyes darted to me. “There’s absolutely no way I’d ever call you unattractive.”
“I heard it.”
“Then get your ears checked.”
“You said it!” I shouted.
“Why would I call you unattractive when Iobviouslythink you’re attractive?”
The sentence went off in the minivan like a gunshot. With the exception of my heart, which was confusingly fluttering up into my throat, we both froze.
