Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Not angry, exactly, but more like upset? That perhaps, you
were, ah, maybe suffering from a recent loss…”
Feeling pathetic, I trail off into silence.
His stare is so hard and searching, it might as well be an
interrogation spotlight. Then his expression clears, and he sits
back into his chair. “You thought I was married.”
There’s a definite a hint of laughter in his tone.
“Yes. Specifically, a widower.”
“I’ve never been married. Never been divorced. Don’t
have a dead wife.”
“I see.”
I don’t see, not one bit, but what else can I say? So sorry
my best friend and I are conspiracy theorists and spent an
entire lunch obsessing over you?
No. I definitely can’t say that.
Also on the list of prohibited topics: if you don’t have a
dead wife, why did you freak out when you saw me in my
wedding dress? Why do you look at me like you want to run
me over with your car but turn around and give me such
beautiful compliments? Then hate yourself for giving them?
Last but not least, what’s up with the punching bag?
At a loss for what else to do or say, I pat my lips with my
napkin again. “Well. I apologize. It’s none of my business
anyway.”
Very softly, Kage says, “Isn’t it?”
His tone suggests that it is. Now I’m even more flustered.
“I mean…no?”
“Is that a question?” A faint smile lifts one corner of his
mouth. His eyes have warmed, and there are tiny crinkle lines
around them.
Wait—is he mocking me?
I say icily, “I’m not in the mood to play games.”
Still with that low, suggestive tone, he says, “I am.”