“So…” she asked, placing the piece of pizza on the plate and reaching for one of the dish towels I’d brought over. “…you know tae kwon do?”
“What?”
“Fighting.” She grinned. “To protect yourself from terrorists.”
“Very funny.”
“Come on, tell me. I know I don’t get any more questions, but you have to know some sort of self-defense. Let me guess. They kicked you out of karate class because you were too serious.” She tapped her chin. “No wait! I’ve got it! You refused to break the board in half because you were afraid to hurt your hand, so they made you sit out. Bummer.”
A grin spread across my face as she kept guessing. She concocted a story about me being afraid of breaking a toe, hitting the wrong dummy because it wasn’t labeled correctly, and somehow, by her weird math and powers of deduction, that meant I was afraid of all things without labels.
“No,” I finally interrupted. “No, no, and no. I didn’t have a pet cricket like Mulan, and I don’t have a crazy grandmother with a cane that I know of. A dragon would be awesome, but I’m pretty sure now you’re just pulling from the movie, and if I did have to become a geisha, I’d be bad ass at it because I think we’ve established what a perfectionist I am in every aspect of my life, both personal and professional. And to answer your first question, before you decided to Mulan me to death, no, I don’t know karate. But I can shoot a gun, took mixed martial arts for a few years back when I was young enough not to care that my nose might get broken a few times. And yeah, it’s true. When I was six I could do the splits. Happy?”
Lisa burst out laughing then gave a little bow. “See? I knew I could figure you out.”
“Right, Mulan-loving bad ass with a heart of gold. You were so ridiculously close that I got chills. Look, right there. Hairs standing on end.”
“Hmm…” She reached across the couch and placed her warm hand directly on my arm. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Disney gives you chills, who knew?”
“Right.” I leaned forward so I was inches away from her face. “Let’s blame Disney.”
“Well, it’s not the pizza.”
“Or the crickets.”
“Geishas?” She moved closer.
“Negative.”
“Extra cheese dirty talk?”
“Close,” I whispered, my lips almost touching hers.
“Well!” She jerked back. “Then I’m out. I have no idea what it could possibly be.”
I let out a low growl and narrowed my eyes. “Teasing the professor may gain you a bad grade.”
“And what? Kissing your student gets you promoted?”
“I bet Gabe doesn’t win any argument with you, does he?” I joked, looking away so I wouldn’t be tempted to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her again.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I throw him a bone.”
“How horrifyingly degrading.”
“Put that in your label maker and smoke it.”
I rolled my eyes and picked up my plate. “You have an oddly strange fascination with my label maker. Maybe next time you come over I’ll let you have some alone time, just you, the maker, and some wine.” Standing, I held out my hand for her plate and waited.
Lisa handed me her plate but didn’t release her grip right away. “Sounds like a dirty fantasy to me, Professor.”
“And there it is.” I jerked the plate away and fought the urge to laugh out loud. She brought that out in me, the temptation to laugh, to forget responsibility, to just be normal, when I knew I wasn’t anywhere close to being able to own up to that particular word and the meaning behind it.
“So…” Lisa placed her hands on her hips while I put the dishes in the sink. “…Secretary of State, huh?”
My hands shook as they gripped the edge of the counter. With a curse, I bit my lip and stared her down, trying to read her expression, but it was blank, emotionless, like she didn’t give a damn who I was or who my father was.
“What?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I figured you didn’t want to talk about it.” She tucked her hair behind her ears then crossed her arms. “Besides, I imagine that’s why you liked the mask.”