“Would you rather…your partner be able to read your mind during an argument or during sex?”
“Sex,” I say without hesitation. “During an argument, I need space to sort out what I actually feel before I say something I’ll regret. But during sex? If you could read my mind, then you’d know exactly how to drive me crazy, and that’s not a bad thing.”
I glance at her, a smirk tugging at my mouth. “Then again, you already know how to drive me crazy. Maybe you’ve been reading my mind all along.”
Her cheeks flush, but she holds my gaze. “Same,” she says. “Sex. Though I wouldn’t mind a little telepathy during arguments. Might save us both some trouble.”
We laugh, and for a second, it hits me. We haven’t really argued. Unless you count the playful standoff over whose turn it was to clean Stripe and Shadow’s litter box. Which she won. Obviously.
“Your turn,” she says. “You pull. I’ll read.”
I pull a card from the deck and hand it to her.
“Would you rather…fall in love fast and risk heartbreak or take your time and possibly miss your chance?”
Neither of us answers. The only sound is the steady whump-whump of tires against asphalt and a rattle from the game tray shifting in her lap.
She flips the card over, traces the edge with her thumb, then glances toward the windshield, like the trees outside might offer the safest answer.
“Ask me after summer ends,” she finally says.
I exhale through a half laugh, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Fair.” I steal a glance her way. “Fast. I’d rather risk it. Missing a chance feels worse.”
Clearing her throat, she picks the next card.
“Would you rather…be remembered for how you made someone feel or how well you protected your own heart?”
Damn. That one hits.
Neither of us answers, silence stretching louder than a thunderclap. And in it, I realize we might both be thinking the same thing. That we’ve already made each other feel too much to pretend we’re still protected.
“I want to be remembered for how I made someone feel,” I say, finally breaking the silence.
She turns her head, just slightly, as though she wasn’t expecting me to answer out loud. But she nods. Then says, “Same. Even if it hurts sometimes.”
I pull the next card, handing it over to her with a smile.
“Would you rather…” She clears her throat. “Relive the best night of your life or erase the worst?”
Wind presses against the car as we round a bend. The deck slides on her thigh; she steadies it absently, eyes on the passing trees.
“Erase the worst,” she says after a long beat. “I still think about it more than I should.”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. There’s a weight in her tone I can feel in my chest. Like she’s talking about more than one night. Like all the nights her ex shattered her and left her to sweep up the pieces alone. Or maybe the worst night of her life was the first one without her mom.
I want to ask.
But don’t.
Some things deserve silence more than questions.
I tap the wheel lightly, carefully choosing my answer. “Relive the best,” I say. “Every second of it.”
She doesn’t ask which night I mean. She doesn’t have to. She was there. The first night we made love.
We drive another few beats in silence before she draws the next card.
“Would you rather…say what’s on your mind or hold back to protect your partner’s feelings?”
