It would be easier if he could just hate her. Or perhaps feel nothing. Yes, feeling nothing would be much easier.

“How is it you’re nice to everyone but me?” The moment he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

“I’m nice to you,” she huffed. “Just because I don’t fall all over myself like the other women in this place doesn’t mean that I’m not nice.”

“No one falls over themselves over me,” he dismissed. “You’re imagining it.”

“My imagination is not that vivid,” she told him. “I am polite and civil to you. What more could you possibly want?”

“This isn’t the time or place. Forget I even said anything,” he said. “You’re nice and everyone knows it. Let’s leave it at that.”

“You are exasperating!” She declared. “If you have something to say to me, just say it.”

This was it, this was his opening. But, as he told her, this wasn’t the time or place. So when?

“Go out to dinner with me,” he said. Yes, time alone with her.

“What?”

“You, me, dinner.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She glared at him. He waited for her answer.