“What’d I get wrong?” Luka asked, and Reno didn’t want to admit to being curious what the forum thought of him, too.
“Well, for one, it says his favorite dessert is raspberry tarts.”
Reno balked. “That's awful. You should correct them.”
“No way,” Sage said. “I will never post in one of these things. I don’t even like your music.”
“You don’t like his music?” Luka asked, his eyes big.
Sage waved him off. “I think it's noise. Why does Zana have to scream so much?”
“She likes pop," Reno stage-whispered into Luka’s ear and Luka chuckled along before asking:
“Do you at least like K-pop?”
Sage frowned. “I guess.”
Reno whispered again, “She won’t listen to music not in English.”
Luka fake-gasped and it sent Reno over the edge, laughing. Sage stole Reno’s new drink and drank half of it in retaliation.
“What else did I get wrong?” Luka asked once he’d calmed his laughing.
Sage tapped her phone on again and said, “Let's see—Oh, you forgot they play piano, which is listed on here. However, violin is not.”
“I keep it a secret,” Reno said and Luka nodded thoughtfully, his drink cupped in both of his hands adorably, and Reno couldn't help but lean forward and take a sip of Luka’s drink through the straw, if only to be closer to him for a moment. He stayed in Luka’s space when he looked up and said, “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
Luka flushed, looking up and away. He asked, “Does August count?”
“No, they’re alright.”
“Can you two knock it off?” Sage waved a hand between them, then slumped back against the booth again, crossing her arms. “You’re so sweet, I might puke and die.”
“We can’t have that," Luka said and pushed Reno away to pull the plate of food closer to him. Reno squirmed where he sat, trying not to think too hard about how bossy and mean Luka could get—he didn’t want to be that worked up in front of Sage or he’d never hear the end of it.
Sage cleared her throat and pointed at Luka, “Your turn.”
“What?” Luka tore his look away from Reno—where he’d been carefully observing the way Reno fought with himself to not be horny in public instead of eating—to focus on what Sage was suggesting.
“What's your favorite color?”
“Oh," Luka blinked, then responded, “Pink.”
“Uh huh.” Sage shook her head. “Of course it is. Where’d you grow up?”
“Springfield, Missouri.”
“How is a spring-filled place misery?”
“Was that a joke?” Luka asked.
Sage shook her head. “No, love, your accent is just amazing.”
“Huh?” Luka looked confused, “I’ve never heard someone say a midwestern accent was amazing. We sound awful.”
“No, no. American accents are so cute,” Sage argued. “Say washer.”
“Washer.” Luka scowled as Sage cackled.
