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"Oh yeah. What's your idea?" I say.
His smile grows wider. "Want to play Shithead?"
4
Miles
I'm not much of a card player, but Shithead is a fun game that two people can play for hours.
I explain the rules as we clear the dining table, and we play the first round with an open hand so that Kyler gets the gist of it.
He picks it up quickly and from the second round, we start playing properly. The best thing about the game, though, is that it's easy to talk and play at the same time.
Kyler and I aren't leaving here anytime soon, so I'd like to use this time to get to know him a bit better.
Yesterday was full on. From his panic attack in the car and crying in the bathroom, to his revelation about his family, to the sad way he asked me to share the bed with him, my job is even clearer to me now than it was before—I have to make Kyler feel better.
Iwantto make him feel better.
I start peppering him with questions as we play.
"You're an LA native, right?"
"Yep. Born and bred."
"Are you a surfer?"
"Tried it once." He chuckles. "Couldn't even stand up. You?"
I raise a brow. "Uh. No… Do you like to read?"
"I do."
"Any specific genre or author?"
His eyes dart between the cards in his hand and the ones laid out on the table. It makes me grin. He's the same at work. When he's focused on a work task, it's like the rest of the world fades away.
He plays his round before answering. "Mainly autobiographies and mysteries. I'm into Dean Koontz and Jeffrey Deaver at the moment."
"Nice. Do you like live music?"
"Love it." His tongue is poking out the corner of his mouth as he studies his cards. "Flew to San Francisco last month to see Taylor Swift."
I frown. How did I not know that? Just shows how we never talk about our personal lives at work. Ever.
"How was it?"
He looks up, his hazel eyes glimmering. "Brilliant. I'm a total Swiftie. Do you like her?"
"I do." I drop my gaze back to the table for a moment, then slide a card out. "I wouldn't say I'm a Swiftie but she has some catchy songs… Have you got any hobbies?"
"Not really." He shrugs. "I sketch."
NowthatI do know. I lean forward, keen to know what he draws in that red sketchbook of his. "What sort of things do you draw?"
For some reason, a faint blush blooms on his cheeks. "All sorts of stuff," he mumbles, then frowns in concentration, returning his attention to the game.
That was an interesting reaction.
