Finding Kyle(30)

You know, for all of Kyle’s gruff ways, I can totally see him reading the classics. I’ve learned enough about him to know he’s a smart guy.

“Did you go to college?” I ask curiously.

His gaze drops quickly to his plate, and I sense an immediate vibe of discomfort in the air. I wonder why that’s a sore subject, but then he looks right back up at me. “Yeah, I did. Worked my way through at night. Took me six years going part time.”

“Wow,” I say, completely impressed but not surprised. Kyle seems to be a goal-oriented type of man. “What’s your degree in?”

He hesitates only slightly, as if it might go against the rules to admit it to me, but then offers up. “Criminal justice.”

I smile in understanding. “Hence you liking crime books. So why didn’t you ever do anything with that degree?”

“What makes you think I didn’t?” he challenges me, and yes… his eyes flash with something I can’t quite describe.

“Did you?” I ask bluntly.

He holds my gaze steadily for a moment before he says quietly, “No. Found out I was more apt to commiserate with the criminals rather than catch them.”

My jaw drops. He sounds serious, and yet… there’s an untruth in that statement. I can hear it and it confuses me, because I also hear some elements of truth as well.

“I don’t believe that,” I say softly.

“Why would I lie?” he counters, his eyes continuing to bore into me.

“Are you a criminal?” I ask, not answering his last question.

He shakes his head without hesitation. “I have a spotless record. I’m sure you can look it up.”

“No, I trust you,” I say automatically, and I have to wonder why that popped out so easily. I don’t know him at all, but, for some reason, I believe what he just told me, despite the fact he’s clearly a secretive man.

Kyle merely grunts at me, and I’ll have to assume that means he takes me at face value. But he doesn’t offer me anything else, and I’m suddenly feeling off kilter. I feel like he was telling me something important about himself, but I can’t figure out the deeper message.

?

Kyle finishes his meal well before me, and that’s merely because he focused on eating. I think that was a calculated move to discourage any further personal conversation, and I respected that.

So instead, I thought about that kiss we’d had, and I wondered if it would happen again tonight.

Then I became obsessed about it as I ate a piece of pork, then a carrot.

Pork. Carrot. Pork. Carrot.

When I finish the last bite, I look up at Kyle and find his plate empty. He’s watching me across the table with his arms crossed over his chest. His chair is pushed back a bit, one leg cocked with his foot flat on the floor, the other one pushed out straight with heel to the floor, so he’s slouched a bit lazily. “Dinner was great. Thanks.”

And that totally sounds dismissive.

So I try to stall. “I’ll help you clean up the dishes. After that, maybe we can watch a movie or something.”

He’s shaking his head in the negative before I even finish my sentence. “Don’t have a TV.”

“You can come to my house,” I offer, and then I blush, because I remember what he thinks about a woman who invites a man inside. “You know… I mean, I’ve got a lot of DVDs and such.”

He’s still shaking his head. “I’m sort of beat. Going to call it an early night.”

And yep… that was a total brush-off because it’s barely six-thirty. I’ve been here a grand total of thirty minutes and he’s had his fill of me—and well, my food. My heart sinks as it’s clear he wants nothing more to do with me, and I’m thinking that kiss last night may have felt amazing only from my perspective. This embarrasses me greatly, giving me incentive to make a quick exit.

“Well, okay,” I say as I push up out of my chair. Kyle does the same and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, just staring at me. “I’ll… um… get the dishes from you later.”

I expect him to fight me on that. Perhaps insist I take them right now. But there’s still more food in them, and that would require me to stay a bit longer to pack it all up, so I’m not surprised when he nods in agreement.

This heartens me slightly as I realize, at the very least, I’ll see him again when he returns my stuff.

Unless he just leaves them on my porch, which causes my stomach to sink.

The tug-of-war this man plays on my emotions from second to second is disorienting to say the least.

I turn and head through the living room, Kyle’s boots thumping softly behind me on the wood flooring. When I reach the door, he reaches past me and opens it. My mind races with something to say.

Anything that will keep an opening between us as my pulse fires on all cylinders.

I’m surprised when he pushes open the screen door, his shoulder brushing against mine, and when I step onto his porch, he follows me out.

Looking over my shoulder, I give him a tentative smile. “Well, good night.”

“Good night, Jane,” he says softly, and that right there… it’s regret in his eyes. I see it clearly and it causes me to freeze in place. Is that an opening?

Should I press an advantage?