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She jabbed a french fry into ketchup and nodded. “I get that a lot.” She ate her food with gusto, taking huge bites of burger and then sitting back to savor it as she chewed. He liked that. He liked women who loved food and weren’t self-conscious about it. “Mmm, this is so good!” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you brought me dinner.”
“Well, I mean, I had to eat. You had to eat. And that sandwich sounded like a hazard.”
Her phone, sitting beside her, pinged several times and she reached over and silenced it. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright. Celebrities gotta interact with the little people.”
She snorted. “I’m hardly a celebrity. I will say that I've been, upon occasion, a moderate viral success.”
“Whoa, someone has a high opinion of themselves.”
Her laugh was bright and boisterous, just like she was. Several people rolled over in their cots and shot them a glare, as though the airport wasn’t a never-ending barrage of clanking and shoes and crying children anyhow.
She seemed impervious to the reactions, though. “So, Gabriel, tell me something boring about yourself.”
He choked back a laugh. “Not something interesting?”
“Interesting comes with a lot of pressure. Boring is an easier place to start.”
“Alright.” He thought for a moment. “I was born about ten miles outside Detroit.”
“Wow, that is boring as hell.”
“I take my assignments seriously.” He sat his burger down. “How about you?”
“I like to watch videos and streams of other people playing video games that I’m too lazy to play myself.”
“You cheated. That’s actually interesting.”
“No, it is not!”
After that, they traded boring tidbits about themselves that got progressively less boring. He learned that, in addition to making “wellness influencer” videos, whatever those were, she was also an artist and a mental health counselor. She lived in Denver. She had three siblings, didn’t care for mangos, and could memorize a commercial jingle after just one listen. Oh, and her favorite pizza topping was pineapple. That was it. Just pineapple.
Clearly, no one was perfect.
“So yeah, that’s how I ended up losing that bet, and had to get my first piercing,” she said. “Never bet against people smarter than you. Your turn.”
“How many piercings do you have besides the one in your nose?” He handed her a candy cane from his pocket.
She lit up and unwrapped it, sliding it into her mouth and sucking. His body suddenly became very alert. “This isn’t twenty questions,” she said. “It's your turn to tell me something boring about you.”
“But I have follow up questions. How many? Where?”
“Nope.”
He gave a heavy mock-sigh. “Fine. I have about…” he counted on his fingers. “Ten tattoos.”
Her eyes roamed him, as if she could see beneath his jacket and uniform to find them all, but she kept her lips together and didn’t ask about them.
“You can ask. I’m not stingy about the information like someone here.”
“Nope,” she said. “I’m not a hypocrite. I can live without my curiosity being assuaged. Can you?”
“Absolutely not. Where are your piercings?”
She covered her mouth to hide her shock of a laugh. “You’re really funny.”
He shook his head. “Not usually.”
