He sucked on his cigarette and looking back at me gave me his usual menacing, chilly gaze that could cut and bore into your guts with arthroscopic accuracy.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry”—and went back to my books. I had overstepped my bounds again and there was no getting out of it gracefully except by owning that I’d been terribly indiscreet.
“Maybe you should try,” he threw in.
I’d never heard him speak in that lambent tone before. Usually, it was I who teetered on the fringes of propriety.
“She wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Would you want her to?”
Where was this going, and why did I feel that a trap lay a few steps ahead?
“No?” I replied gingerly, not realizing that my diffidence had made my “no” sound almost like a question.
“Are you sure?”
Had I, by any chance, convinced him that I’d wanted her all along?
I looked up at him as though to return challenge for challenge.
“What would you know?”
“I know you like her.”
“You have no idea what I like,” I snapped. “No idea.”
他吸了口烟，回头看看我，又是他平常那种冷眼眼带有威胁的凝视，仿佛能以关节镜般的精准，切开、凿穿你的内脏。
“好吧，我很抱歉。”我耸耸肩说，继续看我的书。我又越界了，除了归咎于我太不谨慎之外，没有任何更好的解释了。
“或许你应该试试。”他突然插话。
我从来没听过他用这种机巧的语气说话。通常，我才是那个为说话得体与否反复掂量的人。
“她不会想要和我有任何瓜葛的。”
“你希望她想要吗？
这是要扯到哪里去？
为什么我觉得陷阱就在几步之遥？
“不希望吧。”我小心翼翼地回答，没意识到我的畏缩让我的“不希望”听起来几乎像个问句。
“你确定？”
我是否在偶然间让他以为我一直对奇亚拉有意思？
我抬头看他，仿佛要正面迎战。
“你知道什么？”
“我知道你喜欢她。”
我厉声反驳：“你才不知道我喜欢什么。完全不知道。”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry”—and went back to my books. I had overstepped my bounds again and there was no getting out of it gracefully except by owning that I’d been terribly indiscreet.
“Maybe you should try,” he threw in.
I’d never heard him speak in that lambent tone before. Usually, it was I who teetered on the fringes of propriety.
“She wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Would you want her to?”
Where was this going, and why did I feel that a trap lay a few steps ahead?
“No?” I replied gingerly, not realizing that my diffidence had made my “no” sound almost like a question.
“Are you sure?”
Had I, by any chance, convinced him that I’d wanted her all along?
I looked up at him as though to return challenge for challenge.
“What would you know?”
“I know you like her.”
“You have no idea what I like,” I snapped. “No idea.”
他吸了口烟，回头看看我，又是他平常那种冷眼眼带有威胁的凝视，仿佛能以关节镜般的精准，切开、凿穿你的内脏。
“好吧，我很抱歉。”我耸耸肩说，继续看我的书。我又越界了，除了归咎于我太不谨慎之外，没有任何更好的解释了。
“或许你应该试试。”他突然插话。
我从来没听过他用这种机巧的语气说话。通常，我才是那个为说话得体与否反复掂量的人。
“她不会想要和我有任何瓜葛的。”
“你希望她想要吗？
这是要扯到哪里去？
为什么我觉得陷阱就在几步之遥？
“不希望吧。”我小心翼翼地回答，没意识到我的畏缩让我的“不希望”听起来几乎像个问句。
“你确定？”
我是否在偶然间让他以为我一直对奇亚拉有意思？
我抬头看他，仿佛要正面迎战。
“你知道什么？”
“我知道你喜欢她。”
我厉声反驳：“你才不知道我喜欢什么。完全不知道。”
