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Yet here I am, jogging away.
“Go ahead,” I say, so clearly struggling. He slows a touch, which kind of pisses me off and makes me feel weak, but god, I really need a break.
“Favorite movie.”
“Sandlot.”
“Favorite song.”
“Taylor Swift.” He gives me a look. I tilt my chin up, daring him to call me out for being a Swiftie. “All of them. Next.”
He sighs. “Favorite food.”
“Pizza. Mexican. All of it. Next.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You can’t like all the food. There has to be something youdon’tlike.”
I consider that. “I was a vegetarian for like a year in college, but I got drunk with Cait one time and ate a plate of bacon at a diner at three in the morning. Quit being vegetarian after that. But I guess I don’t like mushrooms, although I’ll eat them if they’re in something.”
“Bacon made you go back to eating meat?”
“I know, it’s awful, but a true story.”
“I’m surprised, honestly, I expected you to have a food thing.”
I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean and decide to let it go. “Let me guess. You’re a picky eater.”
“No, not particularly. I don’t like raw onions, but I’ll also eat them if they’re in a dish. I don’t like overcooked steak. I despise mild hot sauce. What’s the point of hot sauce if it’s not hot?”
I grin at him. “Great point. Might as well call it watery ketchup at that point.”
“Glad we agree on something.” He clears his throat. “Favorite TV show.”
“Parks and Recreation.”
“How old are you again?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “That show was on TV when I was in college.”
“I was a very advanced child.”
“God, don’t remind me about how young you are.”
“Don’t like that you’re married to a girl ten years your junior? What do they call that, robbing the cradle?”
His nose wrinkles with disgust. “If you start calling medaddy, I swear I’ll throw you in the water.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t get mad at me.” I bat my eyelashes as a thrill runs down my spine. He’s staring at me like he wants to do somethingveryfilthy right now. Something that doesn’t involve tossing me into the river.
“Back to work,” he says, practically growling. “Where did you go to high school?”
I give him the basic rundown: two boring parents, born outside of Austin, moved to Dallas, went to a boring school, had boring friends, went to the University of Pennsylvania, parents moved to Florida, they turned into sex freaks (“You don’t take after them?” he asks, grinning, and I only give him a dirty look.), and here I am today. Drowning in debt, married to my boss.
“There’s something apt about them going to Florida to get into swinging,” he says pensively as our pace slows.
Thank god. I’m drenched in sweat. He keeps glancing at my legs and I think he likes the whole glistening-with-effort look, which I’ll keep in mind. “Right? It’s a weird state. Now it’s your turn. Start from the beginning.”
“My childhood isn’t very interesting. It’s like yours. Two boring parents. My father was a drunk, but not an abusive one, thankfully. My mother was a cold, distant woman, but she loved me. I was an only child.”
“Me too,” I say. “Ever wonder what life would’ve been like with a sibling?”
