Temporarily Yours(2)

Dropouts like Cooper.

Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks.

“Would you like a Wet One?” a musical voice asked, tickling over his senses and ripping him from his thoughts. Without even looking, he knew who had spoken. It was the woman in the turtleneck whom he’d practically landed on…or under, rather.

“A wet what?” He turned slowly, his brow raised. She was holding what looked like a baby wipe in her right hand and a container in her left. He couldn’t help but notice she didn’t wear a wedding ring. So there was no husband? Smiling, he reached out and took the offered wipe. “Oh. Sure. Thank you. Is that seat taken?”

“No, you can have it.” She gazed up at him, sending his heart rate through the roof, and then looked away. There was something about her that made him forget about everything that had been hanging over his head the past year. And, man, he needed that right now. Scooting her long legs out of the way, she smiled and motioned him to sit. “That kid came out of nowhere, huh?”

“Like a ninja warrior,” he agreed, getting comfortable on the chair. He quirked his lips at the amusement in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me know I still had the weapon stuck on my shirt.”

She laughed. Damn, but she had an adorable laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“I was so worried about being late and missing this flight, I hadn’t even figured getting attacked into the equation.” He cleaned off his sweater with the wipe and dropped the Wet One into the trashcan next to him. If she carried those things around in her purse, one of these rug rats running around might be hers. “Thanks for the wipe, by the way. You carry them around for your children?”

“Oh, God, no. I don’t even have a husband, let alone kids. If I were going to have kids, I would be married for at least two years beforehand. By then, people pass the mark where one in twelve marriages fail. I personally think they fall apart around then because that’s when the attraction wears off, and the couple looks for that draw elsewhere. Bringing kids into the equation before that whole mess is foolish.” She smoothed her curly brown hair and flushed, then hastily tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. “Not that you asked about my beliefs in the institute of marriage. I’m sorry. I know I’m babbling.”

“Believe it or not, that was my next question,” he said, grinning. “Tell me, how do you feel about the four-year mark? Is that a catastrophe, too?”

“Don’t even get me started on what happens at four years…if you even make it that far. Most of the time, they—” She broke off and gave a strangled laugh. “I’m sorry. You’re clearly just asking these questions to be nice, or to humor me or whatever, and I’m answering in way too much detail. Like, way, way too much detail. I’m just nervous. Really, really nervous.” She paused and cocked her head. “And now I’m repeating myself a good quarter of this conversation, too. Lovely. Just lovely.”

He studied her with new curiosity. What she thought embarrassing, he found refreshing. Where did she find her statistics from, anyway? How the hell did she know that one in twelve marriages fail at the two-year mark?

Time to find out.

“Let me guess. Divorce lawyer? Marriage counselor?”

She scoffed. “Worse. I’m an actuary—quite possibly the most boring job to ever exist.”

“You don’t look boring to me,” he said, his voice husky. He blinked. Wait, why did his voice change? What the fuck? “Quite the opposite.”

She shot him a surprised look. “Are you flirting with me?”

Did she actually ask him if he was flirting with her? Fascinating. “And if I am?”

“Well, uh.” Her cheeks flushed red and she fidgeted with her skirt. “Thanks, I guess? It’s a welcome distraction, if nothing else.”

Wow. That almost hurt. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. She was just…so refreshingly different. “That’s all? I must be losing my touch.”

She tucked another loose curl behind her ear, as if trying to hide nervousness. “I wouldn’t know, having just met you. Plus, I’m hardly an expert, being an actuary.”

He laughed. He hadn’t had this much fun talking to a stranger in…well, ever. “Is there a rule that actuaries are bad judges of character?”

“No.” She raised her brows. “We’re quite excellent.”

He gave her a once-over. “Hm. I’ll have to reserve my judgment. Until I know a bit more about you anyway.”

“Reserve away.” She gave him another look, this one lingering a little longer. “I have to ask, do you know what an actuary is? I’ve never heard someone claim it’s interesting in any way, shape, or form.”