Got Your Number

head. "You don't know what you're talking about."
    "Oh, no? I overheard two girls at the bachelor auction trading stories about the man, and they weren't G-rated."
    "You're making that up."
    "No, ma'am."
    She gestured helplessly in the air. "Then they were lying."
    "Did you think you were the only girl he was doing when you were here?"
    She lunged to her feet, and his jacket fell to the tiled floor. "Take me back."
    "Look, I shouldn't have said that—"
    " Now , Detective. Or I'll walk."
    He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then slowly pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his jacket. "Whatever you say."
    She walked out ahead of him, back straight. The ugly things he'd said kept going through her mind. Sure, Carl had lots of admirers, but he would never...he hadn't tried to take advantage of her, and heaven knows she was so crazy about him, she would have been easy pickings.
    No, it wasn't true. He was a deacon, and a decent man whose job and position meant everything to him. He was human, and she assumed he wasn't a monk, but if he wanted girlfriends, he wouldn't have to dip into the student population.
    Capistrano opened the door and offered her a hand up. She ignored him and struggled, finally falling into the seat. He closed the door, and walked around the front of the truck. Big, slow, confident. The man was too arrogant for words.
    He opened the door and swung up into his seat, then closed the door and sat in silence while the clock in the dashboard ticked off several loud seconds. "I'm sorry. Everyone has someone in their past they put on a pedestal. I didn't mean to insult you. I could be wrong."
    "You are."
    "I hope so," he said, then cranked the engine. They didn't speak on the way back. He found a country radio station and occasionally whistled under his breath. She couldn't wait to get away from him.
    When he pulled up to Nell's, he reached over to open the door for her, then hesitated. "I guess I've blown any chance I had with you."
    She stared, incredulous. "You never had a chance with me."
    He sighed. "It's the scampi, isn't it? I knew I should have stayed away from the garlic."
    She fumbled for the handle. "You're a raving lunatic, and if you ever come around me again, I'll file a complaint."
    "I'm leaving in the morning," he said. "But tonight I'm staying at the Holiday Inn if you need anything."
    She grimaced. "Why, you gutter-minded—"
    "I mean in the unlikely event that Cape shows up."
    "Oh."
    "And in the unlikely event you change your mind about...anything else, here's my number."
    I've got your number.
    The plain white card with simple black lettering glowed in the dim cab light. She snatched it, then opened the door and slid down, twisting her ankle. She cursed under her breath, then limped around the front of the truck to the sidewalk.
    The window zoomed down. "Oh, and one more thing, Roxann."
    She sighed and didn't bother turning around. "What?"
    "Good luck on number thirty-three."
    She whirled and gaped. He held up a sheet of paper between forefinger and thumb. Her life list. Mortification flooded her chest.
    "Give me that." She lunged for the window, but he snatched the list out of reach and had the nerve to grin.
    "Maybe I'll hang on to this little gem as collateral."
    She ground her teeth. "You can't possibly think I'd give you information in return for some stupid list I made in college."
    He pursed his mouth. "I don't know—it has some pretty juicy stuff on it."
    "You're despicable."
    "And you're very ambitious." He looked at the list. "At least you used to be."
    "Just immature musings," she said through clenched teeth. " Private immature musings."
    "If they were so private, you should've been more careful than to lose it outside the ladies' room at the carnival."
    She must have pulled it out of her purse when she removed her keys as they were making their escape. Anger and frustration clogged her throat when she pictured him reading her list, laughing at her. "You...you—"
    "Here." He held the handwritten list out the window. It whipped and curled in the breeze at the end of his long arm. "Take it. I don't know why I thought you'd have a sense of humor about this."
    Another slap in the face. She yanked the list from his fingers and wadded it into a ball.
    "Goodbye," he said, with one arm hooked around the steering wheel. "Maybe I'll see you around." When she didn't answer, he shrugged. "Or not."
    He pulled away from the curb, and she watched until his taillights disappeared. She