When my joke hit, he laughed. “It’s not a competition,” he said.
“Totally,” I said instantly. “But if it were, I’d definitely wipe the floor with you.”
“Adorable,” he muttered. “Okay, you can go first. Sit down. Your pacing is making me twitchy.”
“I’m making you twitchy?” I asked. “That’s rich.”
“Sit,” he commanded.
With anybody else, being told to do something typically made me long to do the exact opposite. But when he told me what to do, a tiny shiver ran down my spine.
“Yes, sir,” I said in a husky voice.
His pupils darkened and his nostrils flared. Those light blue eyes transformed into something more intense and I knew in that moment exactly what his eyes would look like when they looked up at me from between my thighs.
We sat back down in the same positions as a few minutes ago.
With no warning, I brought my hands up to cover the upper half of my face. I said, “I’m afraid to fly. My eyes are brown—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” he said.
“Cheater.” I dropped my hand to point at him.
“You’re the one who’s cheating,” he said. “It’s two truths and a lie. And no covering your face, come on.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“But you’ve already lied twice. You weren’t worried at all about flying that night in Denver and your eyes are not brown,” he said.
“Are you kidding me? You just stared into them.” I threw out my arms. So much for him paying attention.
“Exactly. So I’m an expert. They aren’t brown. Maybe in a poorly lit room a buffoon would classify them simply as brown. But in this light, they’re a rich mahogany. Like a really expensive acoustic guitar that’s been buffed to gleam. There’s depth and texture. The edges have lighter flecks, more like an oak. But brown is weak. Brown is saying that theMona Lisais just a painting.” He shook his head like he was disappointed in me.
“Oh,” I said.
My eyes blinked rapidly, not sure where to look. I’d never been so aware of them. Was that true? Was it possible that he found that much depth there? My mouth closed when I realized it’d been hanging open. I swallowed, feeling completely flustered. How was I ever supposed to stay on track when he said things like that? He was so open and earnest. I told myself to clamp down the rush of adrenaline those words caused in me. Sanders talked like this to everyone. I was nothing special.
Eventually, I cleared my throat and said, “Stop trying to sidetrack me. You go, then.”
With no preamble, he said, “I have two younger brothers. I’m lactose intolerant. Carrots give me the hiccups.”
“You don’t have any siblings,” I said instantly. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I just knew. Maybe because he had only-child swagger.
“Dang. Yep.” He frowned. Well, frowned for him, which meant he was still smiling but his eyebrows sort of turned down at the sides. It was confusing but made sense to me. “Your turn,” he said.
“I can wiggle my left ear. I can also roll my tongue. My brother is three years younger.” My face was completely blank. I’m sure I was the textbook example of RBF.
“Your brother is older,” he said instantly.
I gaped at him. “Shit.”
“Tried to throw me off, did you? Let me see your tongue roll.”
I glared at him but then showed that not only could I roll my tongue, I could also sort of fold it in half and pinch it.
“Hot,” he said.
I laughed. “You can’t say that.” I tossed a pebble at him. “Your turn. We’re tied.”
