Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(37)

Our conversation is light and comfortable as we finish our food and it leaves me feeling satisfied in a way I haven't felt in years. Tyson leans back in the booth, resting his hand on his stomach.

"I thought you weren't hungry," I tease.

"I shouldn't be. Avery brought in leftover pot roast and cheesecake, and I ate way too much of it," he groans.

"Who's Avery?" Reaching for my glass, I take a drink, trying to appear casual. My stomach twists. Who the f*ck is Avery?

His eyes flash briefly with an unknown emotion. "She's one of the ER docs. I'm surprised you haven't met her?"

"Who knows? Maybe I have. I've met so many doctors."

"She's really nice, and maybe a few years older than us. She's smart and has been a great mentor. Most of the doctors down there are older, so it's nice to have someone around that's closer to my age. You guys would probably get along great."

Nodding my head, I smile tightly, choosing not to respond. At that moment, loud cheers ring throughout the bar and I stare intently at the action on the big-screen TV, attempting to look interested. Silence engulfs us and guilt rips through my chest. Things just got really uncomfortable and it’s totally my fault.

I finish my drink and signal our waitress for another round. Shifting in the booth, I turn toward Tyson. His eyes are trained on his beer bottle as he slowly turns it while picking off the label.

"Wanna play a game?" I ask, intent on alleviating the awkwardness I caused.

His head stays down but he raises his eyes to meet mine. Why do I find that move so damn sexy? "What do you have in mind?" he asks as Brittany replaces our empty drinks with fresh ones.

"Can we get eight shots? Four Tequila and four Southern Comfort, please?"

Tyson raises his eyebrows at my request and Brittany merely nods and walks off. "I'm not sure shots are a good idea," he says.

"Why not? Wait...I get it," I croon with mock understanding. "You've become a lightweight over the past five years, haven’t you? You're afraid I'll out-drink you." Tyson has never been one to back down from a challenge, and I'm going to take full advantage of that right now.

"Hell no, I'm not a lightweight," he scoffs. "What are the rules?" I can't help the joy that settles in my chest at the thought that maybe—just maybe—I still know more about him than anyone else, even after five years apart. I wonder how much he remembers about me?

"It's easy." Propping my elbows on the surface in front of me, I entwine my fingers and pin Tyson with a questioning glare. "You want our friendship back, right?"

His face softens and he smiles sweetly. "Right."

"Okay. We each get to ask a question. You either answer or take a shot."

"We can ask anything?" he clarifies.

"Anything." Sliding the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, he scoots forward in his seat and rubs his hands together mischievously. My eyes drift down and lock on the roped veins that run from his hands to his elbows, and I watch with rapt attention as his muscles tick with each movement. Good God, he has sexy forearms.

I shake my head. WTF? Sexy forearms?

"Let's do this. You go first," he says.

Reaching over, I grab the shots that Brittany dropped off and line them up in the middle of the table.

My eyes shift to his. "Okay. I'll start off easy. What's my favorite color?"

"You're kidding, right?" Leaning back in the booth, he crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.

Okaaaay. Apparently I've insulted him.

"What? It's a simple question. I'm asking if you remember my favorite color."

"Of course I do, Harley. I might have been gone for the past five years, but I didn't forget anything." I stare at him, lifting my glass to take a sip, and he sighs. "Purple. And not just any purple...bright purple."

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Your turn." Leaning back, I cross my legs and take another drink in anticipation. This game could really turn out to be fun, as long as he doesn't ask ab—

"Are you in a sexually romantic relationship?" Amaretto spews from my mouth and my eyes widen in horror. Tyson laughs and hands me a napkin. Dabbing my mouth and wiping off the table, I avoid eye contact. I mean, HELLO! Who the f*ck asks that as a first question?

"Wow. You aren't holding back, are you?" His eyes smile but he doesn't respond. How the hell do I answer that? Technically, the answer is no, I'm not currently in a sexually romantic relationship. Then again, I did mess around with Levi a few weeks ago. Does that count? Fuck it.

Reaching across the table, I grab a shot glass. Disappointment flashes briefly across Tyson's face and I hesitate, but I still can't speak past the shock at his unexpected question. Cursing myself, I tip my head back. The cool liquid burns on the way down, and I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth in disgust at the taste it leaves behind.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he says. "You're just going to ask easy questions and I'm going pelt you with hard ones that you don't want to answer, and you're going to end up praying to the porcelain gods tonight."

I snap my mouth shut and furrow my brows, feigning insult. "First of all, I'm disappointed at your lack of trust in my ability to hold my alcohol. Second," I say, holding up my hand to stop his interruption, "I'm not just going to ask easy questions, and I'm not going to avoid answering all the hard ones. You caught me off-guard, that's all. This is about getting to know each other again, so no more arguing about question selection. We're starting over. What did you miss most about home while you were gone?"