“Gee, thanks.”
“I do like those marshmallows.”
“So you’ve said.” She pushed the Lucky Charms to the side, and took another bite. “You know, don’t you, cereal like that is made for children?”
“Then I guess I’m a kid at heart.”
The only thing about him that reminded her of a kid was his immature attitude toward women. Was that what had kept him out until three in the morning? Picking up younger women?
She saw no need to keep herself in suspense any longer. “Where were you last night?”
“Checking up on me?”
“No. I wasn’t sleeping very well, and I heard you come in late, that’s all.”
“Where I was doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“It does if you were with another woman.”
“Is that what you think?” He let his gaze ramble down over her body in what she could only interpret as a gesture of psychological warfare. She was wearing a red T-shirt with Maxwell’s Equations printed on it, although the final equation disappeared into the waistband of her slacks where she’d tucked it in. His eyes lingered on her hips, which certainly weren’t as slim as the hips he was accustomed to seeing on his women. Still, she took heart from the fact that he didn’t look all that critical.
“It’s crossed my mind.” She pushed away her oatmeal and studied him. “I just want to know what the rules are. We haven’t talked about this, and I think we should. Are we free to sleep with other people while we’re married or not?”
His eyebrows shot up. “We? What’s this we?”
She kept her expression carefully blank. “I beg your pardon? I’m not following you.”
He shoved his hand through his hair. It had grown a bit longer in the last few weeks, and a spike stuck up on one side. “We’re married,” he said gruffly. “That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“It!”
“Uhmm.”
“You’re a married woman, and a pregnant one, to boot, in case you forgot.”
“And you’re a married man.” She paused. “In case you forgot.”
“Exactly.”
“So does that mean we’re going to mess around with other people while we’re married or we’re not?”
“It means we’re not!”
She concealed her relief as she rose from the stool. “Okay. No messing around, but we can carouse until all hours of the night with no explanation and no apologies, right?”
She watched him mull that one over and wondered how he’d work around it. She wasn’t entirely surprised when he didn’t try. “I get to carouse. You don’t.”
“I see.” She picked up her oatmeal bowl and carried it to the sink. She could feel him waiting for her to rip into him, and she knew him well enough to suspect he was relishing the challenge of defending a position he knew very well was indefensible. “Well, I suppose from your point of view that’s only logical.”
“It is?”
“Of course.” She gave him a silky smile. “How else can you possibly convince the world you’re still twenty-one?”
/> * * *
On Wednesday night she took her time dressing for the mysterious date she’d finally agreed to go on, despite her misgivings. She showered, powdered, and perfumed. Then she was ashamed of herself for placing so much importance on the occasion. But she’d had such a good day, it was hard to be annoyed with herself for long. Her work had gone well, and she was enjoying the fact that Cal seemed to be hanging around the house a lot more this week. Today he’d even made an excuse to accompany her on her walk, saying he was afraid she’d get so preoccupied solving some damn formula that she’d get lost.