"Consider it un-brought-up." Her cheeks flush.
I can't help myself. I keep pushing. "No way. You as much as admitted that you kissed me back, right there. You opened the door. I'm walking through it. Why would you kiss a complete stranger?"
"I said I wasn't talking about this." The pink in her cheeks rises to the tips of her ears.
This is way too much fun. She's got one hell of an angry glare going on. "I'm leaving you in my house for more than a month, alone. I need to be certain you have sound judgment."
"I'll have you know my judgment is usually very sound. However, when an incredibly attractive man surprises me with his tongue in my mouth, the most logical response is to kiss back."
"You think I'm incredibly attractive?"
She rolls her eyes. "Of course that's the part you choose to focus on. You see yourself in the mirror every day. You can't tell me you don't know you're nice to look at. I'm just stating a fact."
My ego inflates a little at this. I know I'm not unattractive, but my nose has been broken a couple of times, and there's a bump I can't ever get rid of without plastic surgery. I've had knee surgery and I'm not great under anesthetic, so I'd prefer to avoid that scenario. I also have a few small facial scars from playing rugby all those years, which, in the environment I grew up in, takes me down a few points on the desirability scale. Not that I give a fuck. It's my mother who seems to be worried about it, as she does about every line and gray hair. It's a blessing I don't have any sisters.
"I see. So you're telling me if any incredibly attractive man did what I did, you'd respond the exact same way."
"Now you're generalizing. It's circumstantial."
"What do you mean by circumstantial?"
"Well, I guess I assumed you had to be a guest at the engagement party."
"So that made it okay to kiss a stranger? Because we were attending the same event?"
She pauses with her spoon at her lips. "That's not what I said."
"It sounds like that's what you're implying." That spoons slips into her mouth and she licks it clean before she responds. The entire time I'm thinking increasingly dirty thoughts about that tongue of hers.
She flounders a little. "It's not like I was at some seedy bar with seedy douches. It was an engagement party."
"So that makes me better somehow?"
"Are you always this antagonistic?" She throws up her hands. "You kissed me. You smelled good and you're good with your tongue so I went with it. Stop judging me."
"I'm not judging, I'm just asking. So on top of being incredibly attractive and smelling good I'm also an excellent kisser."
"I never said excellent, you added your own adjective. And if you keep talking about how attractive you are you'll go from a ten to a nine pretty fast."
"Oh? So I'm a ten?"
"You were an eleven before you started pushing this angle. That last question puts you at an eight-point-five."
"I guess I should change the subject before I'm in the negative."
"You just earned back half a point."
"Maybe I should stop while I'm ahead, or less behind, anyway."
"Good plan." She leans over and grabs the remote to turn on the TV. I guess that conversation is over. For now.
We finish our dessert in silence. Not uncomfortable silence, but there's weight in it. Every so often I look over at Ruby, thinking I feel her looking at me, but maybe it's just in my head. Or maybe I'm looking for a reason to keep baiting her.
The next time I look over her eyes are closed. Her legs are still hanging off the edge of the chair, but she's slouched down and her head looks like it's at an uncomfortable angle. If she stays like that too long her neck is going to be sore. The tiramisu container is empty and resting against her thighs, right over a different kind of dessert I'd like to try. She's still holding the spoon and there's a smear on her tank. She must be exhausted and still recovering from that flu bug I passed on to her.
"Ruby."
She makes a little noise and shifts around, her brow furrowing as she tries to get comfortable, but can't because of the limited amount of room she has to maneuver.
I turn off the TV aware I need to go to bed, so I can manage my early morning flight. I have hours of work to accomplish on the plane.
I push up from the couch, pluck the empty container from her lap, and slip the spoon out from her fist.
Her hands immediately smooth down her stomach and nestle between her legs as she tries to roll to the side. I'd like to get my hands between her legs, among other parts of my body. Not while she's sleeping, obviously. That would just make me a creepy douche.