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His hand shot out across the table and his fingers grazed her knee. “Shit. I said that badly.” She refocussed on him. He scrunched up his face. “I find this confusing.” He slumped back in the seat. “On one hand I know you’re the pinball wizard, the best in the team, so you deserved the promotion, and it makes sense you’re the one to beat in competition. So you win on merit. And that’s how it should be, right? Best man for the job.”
“But when the man wears a skirt?”
He grinned. “Hey, let’s not even go there. That’s a whole other puddle of clear as mud.” He sat forward again. “And I know you didn’t mean that literally. The thing is, there’s just you and Chris and all of us blokes, so I get that there needs to be a rule giving chicks a chance to be allowed into the game in the first place. After that you’re on your own.”
She sat forward too. That’s how she felt about it. That’s why she’d made the choices she’d made and built herself a less ordinary life. “Maybe there is hope for you.”
He shifted suddenly, leaving his chair to sit beside her on the lounge. His knee bumped hers and he put his hand briefly on her the bare skin where her hem ended, smoothing it. “Sorry.” Then he settled. “I have two sisters. I hate the idea some dickhead bloke like me or Mal might try to keep them down and not understand that’s what they were doing.”
Bree searched Ant’s face for any sign of this being a joke, or his move with her knee being some kind of come-on. He wore the same expression he’d wear discussing forward iron ore contracts. “I don’t know what to say.”
He leaned into her space. “How about I’m sorry?”
She shifted back a little. “What?” He’d lost the ‘I’m seriously interested in iron ore prices’ expression and looked more like he’d discovered a rare vein of gold and was drafting the press release about the untold millions he’d made.
“I lost a bet on you tonight.”
“You bet on me?”
“Yeah. I bet you’d come off second best to me.”
“Arrogant, egotistical, big-headed—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m all that. I’m also a sore loser, a slow learner, and an overbearing bastard. And poorer.”
“How much? What was it worth to you?” She didn’t like the idea she was some chess piece to him, but she hoped it had hurt his hip pocket.
“Ah, it’s not the cash; it’s the mortal blow to my ego.”
She scoffed, “That I’d like to see.”
“You will. That’s the point.”
“Do I even care about this?” She folded her arm. “I’m not happy about being the person you bet would lose.”
He laughed and she felt his low rumble of amusement in her chest and saw it shine in his eyes, and egotistical started to look annoyingly charming on him.
“You care because it makes me a loser,” he hung his head in mock dismay, “and I rarely ever lose, though the last time,” he shook his head at a memory and looked up, “the last time cost me big too. But this time, because I have shitheads for best mates, I have to have my nose rubbed in it. I have to ask you to a dinner I have to pay for with said shithead mates and their girls, and formally apologise for doubting you could womp my arse.”
“Oh!” She was still annoyed with him, but that was funny. “Was that you asking me to dinner?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I guess it was.”
She pulled a bright floral cushion that’d been between them onto her lap and hugged it. “So very elegant. I’m flattered. I’ll be sure to cancel everything to be available.”
His laughter was a shout that made heads turn their way. “Your earlier descriptions of me were more accurate. I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with me, or the night out. You can’t be that desperate for a free feed.”
She studied him across beyond the cabbage roses on the cushion. They really were having their longest conversation without the rancour of their earlier dislike for each other. “Why is winning so important to you?”
He picked up his designer beer. “That’s like asking why fish swim.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. Everyone wanted to win. You wanted it hardest and we all knew it.”
He groaned. “So you can add bad poker player after big-headed.”
“Are you a bad poker pla
yer?”
