He shot her a frown. “Well, uh, thanks.”
Even though she tried to hold it back, a smile broke out across her face like a mad case of the chicken pox—and just as unwanted. She couldn’t help it.
She loved a quick-witted opponent.
“Wait a second. Is that a smile?” he asked, his eyes comically wide.
She killed it ruthlessly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
She faced the window.
No more smiling, Sam.
She couldn’t give him the wrong idea.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sighing, she gestured for him to go ahead. They still hadn’t moved from the parking spot, and time was wasting.
He ran a hand through his hair, and it popped back into place obediently. “Why do you hate me?”
“How could I hate you when I don’t know you?”
Dropping his hand to the back of his neck, he said, “You tell me.”
She fidgeted, uncomfortable with this topic. “I don’t like you, but I don’t dislike you, either.”
“I disagree,” he argued. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear that you wouldn’t like me even if I saved ten orphans from drowning in the Chicago River in front of your eyes.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, trying to decide how to respond to that statement. He wasn’t wrong. She didn’t really like him. She tended to avoid people with a lot of money, and there was that devastating handsomeness of his…
But she didn’t hate him.
Forcing her tone to stay flat, she finally settled for: “I don’t know. I have a soft spot for people saving drowning children from certain death.”
“Oh, great, I’ll keep my eyes open, then.”
She snorted out a laugh.
He still wasn’t satisfied. “Is there another reason you don’t like me, besides my lack of heroics with drowning children so far?”
She faced him again, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Is there a reason you want me to?”
He hesitated, lifting a shoulder. “You don’t know me, which you admitted. It bothers me that you made a snap judgment.”
That admission made him seem a little more…human. “And?”
“And…I don’t like it.” He finally backed out of the parking spot, his brow furrowed when she didn’t continue her sentence. “I’m not sure why.”
“If it helps, I don’t like a lot of people,” she admitted, though it wasn’t true. She was just trying to make him feel better. “Turn left.”
Pulling up to the exit, he flicked his blinker on. “Oh, I get it.”
She frowned. “Get what?”
“It’s your thing. Not liking people.”