“Yes!” I pop the lid off the box and flip over the first card. “Here we go!” I clear my throat. “Do you play an instrument?”
“I play a bit of guitar.”
A bit. I’ve seen the guitar at his place. There’s no dust on it. He plays it. “Like how I knowa bitabout history?”
“Aw… Maybe.”
“Yes.”
“I’m tryin’ to be modest here. What instrument do you play?”
I snort a laugh. “To the relief of my parents and my older brother, the first and last instrument I ever played was when I was eleven.”
“No good?”
“My hand-eye coordination was as awful at the French Horn as it is getting out of your truck.”
He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”
“Don’t underestimate me, sir. I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to my attempts at playing that stupid thing.”
Except maybe Kristen. A beautiful solo ballad outside her bedroom window at 2 a.m. sounds like the perfect revenge. I’ll set my alarm when we get home…
I shuffle the cards and pick the next one to read out. “What’s the last book you read?”
Sawyer sinks low in the seat. “Aw, Elsie… Don’t ask me that.” His proud shoulders slump. “I don’t want you thinkin’ like that about me.”
“Thinking like what?”
“That I’m stupid.”
“I would never think that.”
The look he shoots me is dubious. “I know you’re tryin’ to make me feel better. You’ve been to university. Fuckin’ Oxford.” His jaw tenses when he focuses back on the road. “I barely made it out of high school.”
I sense him shutting down, his energy pulling inward. I wish so much that I could give him a big hug. This seems to be a sore point for him, and while it doesn’t bother me at all, I can’t deny the distance it seems to put between us.
“Well,” I say, “you already know the absolutely titillating book that’s keeping me up at night. So, let’s find a new question.”
He doesn’t respond to my joke or my smile. I shuffle the cards, anxiety blooming in my chest. I hate that he feels small…less than, somehow. Did I make it even worse by dismissing his feelings so flippantly?
“Just so you know…” I tentatively reach out to touch his arm. My fingers brush over the tattooed eye of a ferocious-looking kraken. “I like the differences between us. We don’t need to have followed the same path or enjoy the same things to be friends.”
He frowns.
“We have interesting things to talk about,” I insist.
This time, he doubles down with a raised eyebrow.
“Well,usually.” I grin. “But that’s why we have…these!” I hold up the next card.
Sawyer groans.
“You secretly love this game.” I read the card and burst out laughing.
“What’s the question?” he asks.
“What was your childhood nickname?”
