Page 38 of Teach Me How

Trying to ignore how nice it feels to be touching him, I arrange my silverware in front of me. “So, how often do you find dates?”

He shoves a spoonful into his mouth. “Often enough.”

I frown. “How many dates do you think you went on this last year?”

He’s fiddling with his spoon, the tips of his ears turning red.

“None?”

He looks up at me, lips pressed together.

“Less than ten?”

He tilts his head and focuses on his dinner again.

“Less than twenty?”

He stares into the distance, chewing a mouthful.

“Skyler Paul.”

His eyes meet mine. “How do you know my middle name?”

“How many innocent women did you take on fruitless dates last year?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere between forty and fifty, probably.”

“All first dates?”

He pokes at his stew. “Is that bad?”

“Only if you’re a psychopath.”

I immediately want the word back. I said I’d help him and so far, I’m just trying to shame him. But he’s chuckling.

“Did you take any of those girls on a second date?”

“No.”

“Because you didn’t want to or becausetheydidn’t want to?”

He shrugs again. “Yes.”

I growl at him. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

He runs his hand over the back of his head and sits back. “Yeah, I know. I just usually like to keep things private. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”

“You and the guys don’t talk?”

He looks up, and me and shakes his head, making a sound of disgust. “No.”

“Why the hell not?”

He grins. “Too busy braiding each other’s hair and painting each other’s nail, I guess.”

“Sexist.”

He chuckles. “Add it to the list of things to fix, then.”