Page 42 of Damián

“Just letting the house know I’m about to get drunk.”

“You’re so…”

“James Bond-like? Well, yes. Thank you.”

“I was going to say, Juni Cortez…”

“From SpyKids?!” I ask, shocked, and he bursts out laughing.

And I stay still, with my sake drink in hand, mesmerized by his happy face, when the waiter comes back, pours our jasmine tea, bows, and slides the rice paper door shut, leaving us alone in the dimly lit VIP room.

“So…” I say, leaning forward and crossing my arms. “…Boyfriends.”

“Oh, my God… Are you going to start again?”

“Not one bit. I just think since our status changed, we might need to change our approach.”

“You’re doing that thing again,” Oliver says, “where you’re talking but not really saying a thing.”

“Well, we wouldn’t need to get to know each other if we were just hooking up.”

“I can see why you were hired as an… ‘art dealer’, Juni Cortez. Your powers of deduction are so advanced.”

“Thank you. But what I mean is, since we are, you know, together or whatever… we should talk. You know… talk about our hobbies or interests… Real things.”

“…What? You want to play 21 Questions? Are we sixteen now?” Oliver gasps dramatically. “Am I getting invited to prom?!”

“No. And what the fuck is 21 Questions?”

“It’s a game teens play to get to know each other. You take turns asking questions, then answer. And if you don’t want to, you just say ‘pass.’”

“That sounds lame.”

“How would I know?” he says, looking bothered. “I’ve never done it before.”

Huhhhh… he’s never done it before…

The idea of being Oliver’s first in, well, anything, thrills me so much that I end up saying the dumbest thing… “Okay, we are doing it.”

He glares at me. “Are you bipolar?”

“No, I am not. But we are playing 21 Questions, just with a tweak. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t pass… you drink.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. How else am I going to know my baby-boo’s favorite color?”

“Emerald green. Obviously.” He gestures to his silk shirt. “I assume yours is red.”

“It is. But that did not count as a question.”

“It did. It’s not my fault; I’m better at playing this than you are.” He pauses. “My turn… Were you always a perfectly behaved, good kid?”

“Me? Oh, hell no. I was a nightmare.” I laugh, pouring us both more sake. “I got into more fights than I can count. One day, I messed with a rancher outside the city. Terrible idea, because ranchers are fucking insane. Still, I broke a window, and instead of calling the cops on a stupid kid, he made me clean stalls for three months to pay it off.”

“Child labor. Nice.”

“It saved my life, honestly. He taught me about horses, horseback riding shows, and responsibility. Taught me that if I was going to be strong, I needed to use it to protect, not destroy.”