"That would be the, it's not you, it's me card. Generally the one most people default to," Jaime dictated like she knew. "Or maybe it was a hybrid of a 'you can do better' card. Either way, it's in the 'let me find some excuse to get you away from me' family. You're not going to change my mind that way, Mal. I know those things about you." Well, all right, not so much the baggage one, but ... she could at least guess that he wasn't exactly Mr. Carefree.
"I appreciate you not playing the 'you're too young' card," Jaime continued, her nostrils quivering. Though really, I'm old was just the reverse of that.
She really, really didn't want to stand in the kitchen and have this discussion. She wanted to go up to her room now, maybe cry into Dug's fur, and just try like hell to actually get over this, or repress it, or ... whatever was going to work.
"So," she shrugged. "I don't know why you're asking me why I think you'd reject me. You just stood there and told me all the reasons I shouldn't want you." She moved toward him again, bending down to pick up his fallen crutch. "So ... there," Jaime said as she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I'm ... going to go back to my room now, and ... I'll see you ... later."