“Why are you asking me if I like statistics?” I peer at him, brows knitted together.
“Gotta be better than silence.”
“I don’t know. I kind of like the silence.”
That’s not entirely true, but I’ve still got lingering slivers of annoyance under my skin, and I’m not in the mood for small talk.
“If you really wanna know, I’d rather be trying to get to know you a little bit.”
“Oh,” I say, knocked sideways by his honesty.
“We see each other all the time, but we don’t really know each other. I thought maybe while we had the time…”
“We should be paying attention to the experiment,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Well, yeah, but it’s—”
“Plus, this is not a date.”
He scoffs. “I hope not. This would be the weirdest first date ever.”
I snort and try to fight a smile, but it tugs at the corners of my lips. “Nothing says romance like creepily watching other people through a two-way mirror,” I say before I can stop myself.
“I usually wait until at least the third date for the two-way mirror.”
I don’t even need to look at him to know he’s smirking. I’d know the sound of his “I think I’m clever” voice anywhere.
“Sounds like you’re into some weird stuff.” I lean back and squeeze my arms tighter in front of me, fighting my growing smile.
“You have no idea.”
When I look over at him, his smirk has spread into a full-blown smile.
“Tell me what you’re into,” Mac says. His eyes are intense, like he’s trying to look through me. Like maybe he is actually interested in getting to know me. But his voice is low and his tone suggestive.
I gulp hard as my face heats, warmth spreading down my cheeks to my neck. I shift in the chair. “Um…”
“Oh my god, not like that,” he says, horrified. “I—I just meant more generally. Like…what kind of stuff do you like to do for fun?”
My face is still warm, but a half-laugh bubbles in my chest. I cover my face with my hands, feeling really stupid, but I’m laughing. In fact, I’m laughing hard enough my shoulders shake. I groan and cross my arms in front of my chest again.
“Oh my god, that was…really embarrassing,” I say, and I realize all those slivers of annoyance are gone. I still can’t look at Mac, but I’m lighter and my chest feels more open. Being here with him doesn’t feel like being suffocated. At least not right now.
“Okay, what do I do for fun? I don’t know. What is fun?” I ask.
“That is your vibe, isn’t it?” Mac says, but his voice is teasing. “All work and no play.”
“My idea of fun is just different than yours.”
“What is your idea of fun?” he asks.
“Practicing my handwriting.” I shrug and face him so he can see my smirk.
“Is that a joke…?”
“Sort of. I got really into fountain pens a couple years ago when my grandfather gifted me his collection, and I like to write with them.” I look down at my hands. Faint outlines of ink still cover my fingertips from inking up my pen the other day.
“Do you have any with you?”
