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I try to think of something else he doesn’t know about me. “Six . . . never watched Game of Thrones.”
He nods as he listens.
“Seven . . . I wish my dog wasn’t called Barry.”
“Don’t we fucking all?”
We both burst out laughing again.
“Eight . . . I’m a great swimmer.”
“Are you lying?” He refills my champagne glass.
“Totally.”
“You’re good at other things.” He shrugs. “Can’t be greedy.”
“I know, right.” I giggle, and he taps his glass against mine for our fiftieth cheers of the night.
“Come on,” he coaches me, “I need more information.”
“Umm.” I look up to the ceiling as I try to think of something else to tell him. “Nine . . . I didn’t like it when you left the other night.”
He falls serious. “Why not?”
“You can’t ask questions unless my answers count.”
“Last question. Why didn’t you like it when I left?”
“Because I liked having you inside of me.”
His eyes darken and drop to my lips. He leans back and adjusts himself in his jeans.
He liked that answer.
“Your turn,” I say.
“No, no, this was my quiz.”
“Oh no you don’t. Give me ten facts that I don’t know about you.”
He sits back in his chair as he thinks. “I also wish your dog wasn’t called Barry because it reminds me of the Bee Gees.”
I giggle.
“Never watched Game of Thrones.”
“You can’t just copy my answers,” I tell him.
“Hmm.” He twists his lips as he thinks. “Haven’t had a vacation in a very long time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I like to listen to true-crime podcasts. I could get away with the perfect murder if I wanted to.”
“Don’t kill me.”
He raises his eyebrow, and I laugh.
