“Go for it.” I interrupted before she could dig herself any deeper.
Maybe I shouldn’t have picked the seat right across from her, but it was that or sit right next to her, and the situation wasn’t so dire for that. Not when shejusttalked about playing with herself.
I eyed her wearily, trying to get a grip.
She bit her lip and tucked her hands under her legs—or where I thought her legs most likely were. At this point, she was more of a brightly colored amorphous blob with a face. Amorphous was a perfect example of a word I knew, but when I tried to verbalize it, it would inevitably come out completely wrong—like amphibious or something.
“This game is called ‘Name all the cats from the cat café.’” She cleared her throat, still not looking at me.
“What?” I tried so hard not to smile.
“Shh. I’m not talking to you.” She leaned back and closed her eyes in thought. “There’s sweet Simon, who’s probably older than me and yells for food all day. There’s Slider, who randomly attacks me. It’s how he expresses his love. Then Maverick, the strong silent type.” She opened her eyes just long enough to shoot me a pointed look. “You’d get along. Then we have Binx and Callie, who are total opposites but madly in love. There’s Bear, who manages to shove all fifteen pounds of himself in places he has no business being. There’s Zeus, who thinks she’s a dog. And François, who actually is a dog that thinks he’s a cat. Don’t tell him otherwise.”
On and on she went. Listing names until they were swirling around my head like birds in a cartoon. Dachs and Socks, Pepper and Pudge, Tommy and Zombie … I didn’t think the café was that big, but when she was on her twentieth cat, I was ready to be done.
“Lena and Dallas?—”
“What type of game would we even be able to play?” I asked, interrupting her.
Her eyes brightened, hopeful. “Oh, we’ve got lots of options. We could play twenty questions or two truths and a lie. We could list notable historical figures in alphabetical order. Or we could try to name every country. Really, the options are endless,” she said with pep.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said right away, happy I’d contributed to the ideas. “I feel like the dare options would be somewhat limited since you wouldn’t even let me open the door. But I’m sure we could think of something,” she added and then suddenly blushed furiously red at whatever thought just flashed into her mind and tried too late to hide it. Just what sort of things would she want to do if we played together? “We don’t have to play a game. It was a stupid idea.” Her mouth tugged at the paracord, tightening the hood around her head.
“A distraction is a good idea.” I swallowed.
“Right.” Her blush faded away, but I still fixated on where her thoughts had gone.
We settled on a game where one of us would name a celebrity, and whatever letter their name ended with, the other person would have to think of a different celebrity starting with that letter. The problem with that game was that we quickly learned how many names end withsandn.
“I met that actress once,” I said when she started throwing out random names.
Bee gasped. “No way! Did she visit here?”
“Nah. I went to LA to visit my cousin, who is a bodyguard there. Or was. He quit, I think. I’m not sure exactly.”
“So cool. So big, tough guy energy runs in the family?”
I shrugged.
“Was she nice?”
“No comment. But my cousin did say Emma Flynn is as amazing as she seems.”
“I believe it. I wish a celebrity would come to Slippery Slopes. I would be so chill, like fame was no big deal.” She sat back, blowing out a breath. “Should we try twenty questions?”
We played twenty questions next but found it even less challenging. For being almost strangers, we guessed each other’s answers within a few questions. After the fifth round, we gave up.
“Damn, these psychic abilities,” she said.
“Seriously, get out of my head.” I relaxed and leaned back, feeling peace I hadn’t had since Benny Jr. called.
It was like being with Ivy. I wasn’t overthinking every sentence. I didn’t have time. Bee verbally bounced around topics like a Ping-Pong ball, and there was no time to overthink or feel judged.
It was unexpected.
The only thing that took my attention now was how my mouth had grown tacky with dehydration. I regretted all the times I didn’t drink when water was right in front of me, the way I missed being able to breathe out of my nose when I was sick. I promised I’d never take it for granted again. I leaned my head back and let out a long sigh. “Tell me that took at least three hours.”
