Page 13 of Just Watch Me
She stared at him in disbelief. “Excuse me? No man in the world wants a woman to tell him exactly why she doesn’t want to date him.”
“I have a pretty fair ego,” he said. “Ask anyone. And I’m abig target, so go ahead. Seems it’s my week for self-improvement, and a man who can’t take coaching doesn’t get far.”
She laughed helplessly and let her hands fall against her thighs in resignation. “Right. Here we go. Because you’re out of my league? That would be one.”
“Why?”
“Why?Because you’re an All Black and I’m a Year One teacher? Or how about this: because you’ve got that body, and I’ve had three kids? Isn’t there some …” She waved a hand. “Some Olympic gymnast on the hook? Fitness influencer? Black Stick? Stop me when I get close.”
“I’m a rugby player, yeh,” he said. “It’s a job, like yours. And if we’re talking about bodies—not something I normally do, because I have just enough sophistication not to blurt out my opinion—you’ve got one, too, and it’s pretty choice. Although you seem to have some white hair on your … ah, trousers.”
She stood up, turned, and swatted at her bum. Which wasnotthe look she should be showing him, she realized belatedly. “I told you,” she said, sitting down again. “Cat. The worst kind: the kind that won’t listen.”
“Is there any other kind?” he asked. “I’m more of a dog man, myself. Farm family. And getting back to the topic, aren’t Olympic gymnasts normally about eighteen? Cheers for that.”
“All right, I apologize for the teenage gymnast. I’ll point out, though, that I also have stretch marks.” She got a little glow from what he’d said, but what thirtysomething woman wouldn’t have? “My thighs aren’t what you’d call ‘rock solid,’ either—cellulite, anyone?—and I’ve seen yours, boy.” Whoops. The ‘boy’ had slipped out there.
“And my sister called me ‘craggy.’” He definitely looked craggy right now. That face didn’t compromise. So why did she think he was trying not to smile? “If I remember right, she said I didn’t look too bad despite the craggy thing, if a womanliked ‘the stocky type.’ The fireplug type, is what she meant. How’s that for crushing?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and his tough face broke into a grin, too. “So that’s sorted,” he said. “What else?”
“Whatelse?”
“What else makes me undatable?”
“You’renot undatable.I’mpossibly undatable, though. I told you! I’d be trying to hide it, but I’m not that good at hiding, and I have—” She cast an arm out to encompass her life. “Kids. Cat. Grandfather. My bedroom is nine square meters, and my bed’s a single. You probably date—dunno. Not gymnasts, we’ve established that. Models, though. Actresses. TV presenters. Whereas I haven’t had sex with an actual man in five years, and I clearly wasn’t that good at it when I was having it, considering that?—”
She broke off in horror, because Georgia’s little face was right there, peeking over the top of the desk. She’d completely forgotten the girl was here. “Oh, hi, Georgia.” She tried her best for brisk. “Your dad and I are just finishing up. Time for all of us to go home.” She began putting files into her bag, a bent-over ginger’s excuse for a face that must be scarlet by now.
Why, why, why?Whywould a woman meet the most spectacular hunk of manly toughness she’d ever encountered in the flesh and immediately set fire to herself in front of him? Whodidthat?
She’d told him about her cellulite!
It was imagining what Jess would say when she heard the story that did it. Her sense of humor got the better of her, and she started to laugh. Silently. Helplessly. Shaking-your-head, tears-in-your-eyes laughter, her hand over her mouth, staring into Zane’s shocked eyes and trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. Hopefully he thought she was choking to death, which sounded pretty attractive just now.
“Sorry,” she got out eventually. “It’s just that—” The laughter was there again, trying to get out. “That you’re a social … a social lion, and I’m more of a social …” There she went again. “Warthog. At this moment. Oh, I’m embarrassed. Sorry. Erase this.” She waved an arm. “Delete, please.”
So, not exactly professional.
Oh, well.
5
BANKRUPT ANY DAY NOW
Georgia practically bounced in her booster seat all the way home. Once he’d pulled into the garage, she ran pell-mell up the stairs and into the kitchen, shouting, “Nan! I’m not too thick for school!”
“Well, who ever said you were?” her great-grandmother said, giving her a one-armed cuddle, as she was holding a tea towel in her other hand.
“Scarlett said so,” Georgia said. “And Francesca in my class said so. But Ms. Fairburn says I’m not. She says I can’t see, so I’m like a kitten whose eyes aren’t open yet, but when I get specs, I’ll be able to read!”
“I did not say that,” Scarlett said, grabbing cutlery as she prepared to lay the table. “I said maybe you weren’t good at reading.”
“You said she was dim.” That was Duncan, who’d been doing his homework at the breakfast bar. This was a fair-sized house. Why did everybody always end up in the kitchen? Maybe because it smelled so good. Roast lamb and veggies, he diagnosed. Better than any flowery scent. Well, unless it were on a woman you were going to get to kiss andtouch and love on a bit. A woman with the kind of body you wanted your hands on, and with curls you could wrap around your finger.
Dating a parent was serious misconduct? Why? How would Skylar possibly express her favoritism? By giving Georgia extra minutes during Sharing Time? Assigning her an additional week as Rat Feeder? Marking her as “within expectations” in maths instead of “working toward expectations,” setting her up for crushing failure in Year Two?
Sometimes he hated modern life.
