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“I Spy?” My offer is wobbly. Unsure. I clear my throat and pretend like I’m not freaking out over this. “That’s a classic car game. What you do is—”
“I know how I Spy works, Noelle. Believe it or not, I had a childhood.” Reid gusts out a sigh then says, “F.”
The grin spreads over my face faster than I can bite it back. My legs cross and uncross, and my fingertips tap together in my lap. “So… you won’t say the rhyme?”
Dead silence.
Dead, dead silence.
“For god’s sake.” Then, as though he’s pulling teeth, Reid grits out: “I spy… with my little eye… something beginning with ‘F’.”
Empty scrubland rushes past the highway, dotted with barns. The dark clouds are getting thicker overhead, gathering in moody clumps.
This is the best day of my life. Reid Merryweather, grumpy boss and ultimate stern hottie, said the I Spy rhyme.
“Farmhouse?”Be cool, Noelle. Be cool.“Fields?”
Reid grunts. His jaw is tight as he nods.
And this is fine. This is normal.
This is a totally normal thing to get butterflies about.
My turn. “I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘T.’”
“Trees.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cows. Barns. Sky. It’s not a long game, and we run out of things to spy pretty fast. But I’ve never seen my boss this mellow before, the whisper of a smile playing around his stern mouth, and I don’t want it to be over yet. Don’t want to go back to taut silence.
“How about Fuck, Marry, Kill?”
Reid frowns out at the highway, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “I don’t know that one.”
“It’s fun, I promise.” Let’s hope so, anyway. “I say the names of three famous people, and you say who you’d fuck, marry and kill.”
The look he gives me is so sour. Finally, Reid breaks eye contact and stares out at the road. “Go on, then.”
I name a Hollywood starlet, a supermodel, and a famous singer.
“Kill, kill and kill.”
Reid jumps when I burst out laughing.
“Oh my god.” He’s so grumpy, all his man-feathers ruffled up as he glares over at me, but I can’t stop wheezing with laughter. “You can’t kill them all, you psycho.”
“Why not?” His shoulders are tense, climbing up. “I don’t want to fuck or marry any of them, and there’s no ‘leave them alone’ option.”
Wiping away a tear, I slump back giggling. “Okay, okay. Um…”
I name three famous men. A billionaire, a rock star and a football player. You never know, right? Maybe I was presumptuous.
But Reid side-eyes me and says, “Kill, kill and kill.”
Hereallydoesn’t get this game.
But I kind of love it. Now that I’m faced with the prospect, I don’t want to hear that Reid Merryweather would fuck another woman.Ora man. Don’t like picturing him with anyone but me.
