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“I guess I made a good choice?” Blake darts his gaze toward our plates.
“The best, but you really should swap the Ketchup for Ranch.”
His nose crinkles as he watches me pop a Ranch-dipped fry in my mouth, though when I raise my brows in challenge, he grabs a fry and helps himself to my dressing. Tilting his head to the side he blinks his hazel eyes as he chews, almost like he’s letting the flavor coat every inch of his tongue. Then he swallows and slowly meets my gaze. “Not bad.”
“You thought I’d steer you wrong?” My jaw falls open in mock offense.
“Well, you do have pink hair.” The corner of his lip pulls upward like he’s fighting a smile.
“That’s because blonde, like Ketchup, is boring. And I’m not boring.” I have no idea where that retort came from, but it’s actually true. I’ll claim insecure, awkward, and tomboyish, but not boring. Although, considering I order the same thing every time I eat here, maybe I just don’t want to admit the truth.
“We’re basing personality on hair color? Okay, what does mine say about me?” He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews with a sly grin, like he’s daring me to answer.Alright, I like puzzles.
“Well, the light brown says you blend in, but the shaggy length and hint of curl at the tip says you’re not a rule follower, so I’m going to go with paradox. You’re familiar and not at the same time.”
Blake’s hand freezes halfway to his mouth, jaw hanging open. Then he clears his throat and looks at his plate. “That’s deep.”
“Am I right?” I nudge his arm with my elbow.
“I’d say the length means I’m lazy.” He reaches for his beer, washing down his sandwich. “But yeah, I guess I blend in.”
I cock my head and study him. “No. You don’t blend. Not the way you ride a bike.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel like I’m not average.” He nudges me back.
“I did tell you I’m not good at small talk.” I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything else awkward.
“This isn’t small talk, it’s conversation. I like it.” There’s a raw honesty to his voice that makes me believe him, even though I think my personality assessment rattled him.
“What makes this a conversation?” My voice is oddly soft, almost like I’m afraid of the answer.Maybe I am.
“Conversation makes you think.”
“Small talk doesn’t?” I know I sound skeptical, but how do you start talking to someone if you don’t first think about what to say?
He swallows even though there’s nothing in his mouth. “If I asked what’s your favorite sandwich, do you have to think about that or can you answer right away?”
“Rueben,” I say on autopilot.
“And if I asked why pink is any less boring than say, red? Or purple?”
I hold my breath in my lungs, replaying his words. “I’d say pink is unpredictable. It can be quiet and soft, or loud and bold.”
Blake’s eyes meet mine, something like pride anddesirein his gaze. “See what I mean?”
Wow. A flood of thoughts and emotions race through my brain faster than I can register what they are. He’s got my head and my heart working in overdrive, both of which seem to be screaming at me not to let this moment end. I mean, it will eventually since he’s just visiting, but until then? I don’t think I could walk away from him right now if I tried.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I whisper.
“My hotel is around the corner.”
***
“You win. Pink is not boring.” Blake stumbles toward the bathroom to discard the condom, coming back to bed with an almost dazed look on his face.
“Are you saying hair color dictates how good a person is in bed?” I pinch his hip, atinywarning to think about his answer.
He squirms out of my reach. “I’m saying I’ve tried that position before and it was hot seeing the way your back arched while you rode me. It was even hotter to feel your hand playing with my balls.You’rethe one correlating hair color with good sex. Although, based on recent experience, I agree with you. Pink hair equals good in bed.”
