That Dating Thing by Mackenzie Crowne Page B

about people like us,” he said, continuing the dangerous thread of conversation she’d foolishly introduced. “When you’re not interested in a relationship, the concept of kids isn’t an immediate consideration.”
    She passed him the covered basket of rolls without comment.
    “Was it ever for you?”
    “Was what ever what?” she asked, stifling a groan.
    “An immediate consideration. Was there ever a man in your life who made you think of white picket fences and the expected two-point-five kids?”
    Crap .
    Her failed engagement was the last thing she wanted to discuss. The subject would only bring more questions. Maybe she should take Brian’s advice and climb into Coop’s lap, after all.
    “There was a guy once when I was in college,” she admitted reluctantly.
    “What happened?”
    “I was young and he was a dick.” She busied her shaking hands by slathering butter over a roll. “We both learned a valuable lesson.” She attempted to shove the conversation along in another direction. “What about you? Any potential ex-Mrs. Reeds in your past?”
    He smiled. “None.”
    “Ever been close?”
    He shook his head.
    “Hmmm…” She cocked her head to study him, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn’t immediately pepper her with questions. “What are you, thirty-five?”
    “Thirty-six.”
    “You know.” She waggled her fork at him. “When a man reaches his mid-thirties without ever having been seriously tangled with a woman, it means one of two things.”
    Humor brightened his eyes at her challenging smile. “For the record, I’m heterosexual.”
    “Phew!” She batted her lashes in exaggerated relief. “For a minute there you had me worried.” He chuckled. “From what Lilly says, you have a master’s degree in interviewing candidates, but you are still taking your prerequisites in the actual hiring.”
    “Lilly always did have an interesting way with words.”
    “Which leaves commitment issues.”
    “Bingo.”
    “They say admitting the problem is the first step to recovery.”
    “If recovery is the goal.” The teasing humor faded from his eyes, replaced by guardedness. “I’m content with the status quo.”
    “Oka-a-ay,” she drew out the word. “New subject.” She rose from the table and headed for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “How about them Yankees?”
    He laughed and the subtle tension passed.
    “Sil seems pretty excited about the foundation’s Fourth of July fundraiser,” he said when she returned. “Are you going?”
    “Of course.” She handed him a plate of manicotti and slid back into her chair. “Are you?”
    “I am now.”
    His eyes were full of seductive promises, his tone deep with the tug of sexual awareness. She stifled a shiver, tempted to sit back and wait, see what he would do next. Maybe he’d just been biding his time, adhering to the mythical third date rule himself.
    God, she hoped so, because she sucked at vamping. The minute she opened her mouth, she walked them straight into a philosophical cold shower. Kids and commitments, and white picket fences, for crying out loud! Could she have chosen a topic less likely to whip a man into a sexual frenzy?
    But as the meal progressed, though he responded to her clumsy attempts at flirtation, he made no moves of his own. Clearly, if she wanted carnal knowledge of Coop tonight, she would have to be the one to initiate it.
    “About the fundraiser,” he said, following her into the kitchen and handing her the cloth he’d used to wipe up the remnants of their meal. She flipped off the faucet, leaving the manicotti pan to soak, and faced him. “Do you have any contacts on the inside?” he teased. “I don’t seem to have a ticket.”
    Dinner over, she was no closer to achieving her goal than when he’d arrived. Time to step up the effort.
    “I might know someone.” She cocked her head, pulling out her best effort at seductive persuasion. Dipping her chin, she peeked at him from below her