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"Let's do this. You go first," he says.
Reaching over, I grab the shots that Brittany dropped off and line them up in the middle of the table.
My eyes shift to his. "Okay. I'll start off easy. What's my favorite color?"
"You're kidding, right?" Leaning back in the booth, he crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.
Okaaaay. Apparently I've insulted him.
"What? It's a simple question. I'm asking if you remember my favorite color."
"Of course I do, Harley. I might have been gone for the past five years, but I didn't forget anything." I stare at him, lifting my glass to take a sip, and he sighs. "Purple. And not just any purple...bright purple."
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Your turn.
" Leaning back, I cross my legs and take another drink in anticipation. This game could really turn out to be fun, as long as he doesn't ask ab—
"Are you in a sexually romantic relationship?" Amaretto spews from my mouth and my eyes widen in horror. Tyson laughs and hands me a napkin. Dabbing my mouth and wiping off the table, I avoid eye contact. I mean, HELLO! Who the fuck asks that as a first question?
"Wow. You aren't holding back, are you?" His eyes smile but he doesn't respond. How the hell do I answer that? Technically, the answer is no, I'm not currently in a sexually romantic relationship. Then again, I did mess around with Levi a few weeks ago. Does that count? Fuck it.
Reaching across the table, I grab a shot glass. Disappointment flashes briefly across Tyson's face and I hesitate, but I still can't speak past the shock at his unexpected question. Cursing myself, I tip my head back. The cool liquid burns on the way down, and I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth in disgust at the taste it leaves behind.
"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he says. "You're just going to ask easy questions and I'm going pelt you with hard ones that you don't want to answer, and you're going to end up praying to the porcelain gods tonight."
I snap my mouth shut and furrow my brows, feigning insult. "First of all, I'm disappointed at your lack of trust in my ability to hold my alcohol. Second," I say, holding up my hand to stop his interruption, "I'm not just going to ask easy questions, and I'm not going to avoid answering all the hard ones. You caught me off-guard, that's all. This is about getting to know each other again, so no more arguing about question selection. We're starting over. What did you miss most about home while you were gone?"
"You." His answer is quick and the vulnerability on his face leaves me momentarily stunned. My heart flips and constricts in my chest at his raw honesty.
My first instinct is to catapult myself into his arms and never let go, but that might be a bit dramatic. "Good. I missed you too,” I respond instead. “See, we're making progress. This is going to be fun. Your turn."
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. "Okay. Hmm." He runs his hand across his chin and I follow his movements. "What's your favorite memory from our childhood?"
Interesting. "Well, let me think. There are so many to choose from," I say, shooting him a wink as he lifts his beer bottle to take a drink. "Got it!" I say, snapping my fingers. "It's nothing too special, but do you remember that summer our parents signed us up for the local kickball league?"
A smile lights up Tyson's face and he pulls his beer bottle back enough to speak.
"Of course I remember. I got chosen to be a captain, and I thought I was hot shit! We were on the same team," he says and I smile and nod at his correct recollection, "and everyone made fun of me because you were the only girl in the league and I picked you to be on my team. Ha! We ended up getting first place."
My eyes burn at the memory and I swallow hard. "That was the best summer for me, and that memory stands out above all the others."
He tilts his head. "Why? I mean it was sort of uneventful. Fun, but uneventful."
"Because you picked me first," I reply wistfully. Tyson watches me carefully, his milk-chocolate eyes searching mine. I can tell he's trying to remember, but it's not clicking. "And, it's the first time you told me I was your best friend."
"You remember that? Why don't I remember that?" he asks disappointedly.
"You didn't care what any of the other kids thought." I smile as the memories flood my mind. "Later that same night, we were sitting on the porch swing and I asked you why you chose me. You looked at me like I had asked the stupidest question and you said, ‘Because you're my best friend.’ That moment was—is—so special to me. I'll never forget it."
"Wow. I, umm…" he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.
"My turn!" I chirp, effectively redirecting the conversation away from my sappy memory and giving him the reprieve he needs. "What's your favorite childhood memory?"
My eyes roam the table and land on the seven shot glasses still sitting in the center. "Wait! Let's do a shot."
"Why are you so hell-bent on drinking? Didn't you get all that out of your system...oh, about six years ago?"
"Well, if you must know, I really haven't gotten the chance to indulge myself much over the past five years and now I have the opportunity. I have no responsibilities this weekend and I'm going to take full advantage of it." Tyson's face drops slightly but he recovers quickly, handing me a shot glass. "Cheers." Tapping my glass to his, I take the shot and cringe.
