Lovely Trigger(44)

After I’d put the appetizers in the oven and set the timer, we went into the living room.

He sprawled out on the couch, and I took an armchair.

We smiled at each other.

‘Tell me something’ was a game we’d played back in the day. It had started out as a game we’d played over the phone when we were doing the long distance thing, and evolved into a bullshit test, where we lied half the time, only admitting it was a lie when we thought we had the other convinced. The best get, though, was when you said something legit and got called bullshit on the truth. I’m not even sure why, but we’d both decided that was the win of all wins. It was the most fun, I supposed.

We were twisted, but it was so much more fun to be twisted when you had a partner.

“Tell me something,” he said fondly.

I propped my feet up on the coffee table, chewing on my lip. We hadn’t played in so long; I didn’t even know where to begin. I beamed as I thought of a good one. “I’m a huge Josh Groban fan now.”

He barked out a laugh. I’d known he’d get a kick out of that. That kind of music was so not his cup of tea. “You are shitting me. This one is easy. Lie.”

“I’m not joking. Bev got me hooked on him last year. I’m not a rock snob, like you. I like all kinds of music.”

He shook his head. “I call bullshit.”

“Is that your final verdict?” I asked cheerfully.

He squinted his eyes at me. I’d stumped him now. “Well, hell, now I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

“The man can sing his heart out. There’s so much power in his voice. Gives me chills.”

“Fuuuuck. Okay, you stumped me. Let me think, let me think.” He started stretching his shoulders like he was prepping for a challenge.

I giggled.

He pointed at me. “Name one Josh Groban song.”

I pretended to have to think about it. “Um, hmm. Oh, I know. Remember When it Rained.”

“Well, shit.”

I grinned. “You don’t know any of his songs, I presume.”

“No, of course not. But that song has to be a fake. It’s just the sort of thing that you’d come up with. It sounds made up. You are lying. That is my final answer.”

I clapped my hands. “Wrong!”

“Well, hell. Pick your prize.”

“I’ll pick after your turn, in case I lose, we can cancel each other out.”

He shook his head, both dimples out in full force. “Hell no. I’m picking a prize if you lose, regardless. You know I never mind paying up.”

“Well, I’ll have to think up something extra special for you, then.”

He winked at me. “I’m counting on it. Okay, hmm, oh yeah, I’ve got one. I bought a painting of you, one of Bianca’s. It’s hanging in my bedroom.”

That one did stump me. “I call bullshit.” It seemed too easy, because there was simply no way he had one of those paintings. I’d put the show together, had handled the sale of each one. There was no way I’d have missed it if he were a buyer.

“You’re wearing a vintage dress. I know it’s called that, because a card with a long description came with the piece. The dress has lots of beading. It’s silver, the color of your eyes. It covers you up to your neck, but it shows off your shoulders, and if I weren’t a pervert, I wouldn’t have to point out that it shows off a bit of side boob too. The most spectacular side boob in the world, but your eyes in it were what slayed me. You know which painting I’m talking about.”

I glared at him. There was no way he should even be able to describe that picture, let alone claim to have it in his home. “There’s just no way.”

“Is that your answer?”

I shook my head, back to glaring at him. “I believe you; I just don’t know how you did it.”

“Dammit, you always were better at this. You win that round. It was the truth.”

“How?”

“Second party buyer. Cost me a fortune.”

“That’s insane. You weren’t even at the show.”

“He texted me all of the pictures, and I picked it out the second I saw it. I picked out three, actually, but that was the only one he got before it sold to someone else. The * was slow as hell, considering how much I was paying him to do it.”

“You do realize that’s insane, right?”

“Yes. Now ask me if I’d do it again.” His tone had gone from playful to so tender that I couldn’t look him in the eye for a long moment.

I looked down at my hands instead, wringing them restlessly.

I should have chewed him out, just on principle, but I didn’t seem to have it in me.

My heart ached. What was I going to do about him? About this?

“Your turn, boo.”

It took me a while, but I composed myself, reined in my reckless emotions.

“I think I’ll stick to my music theme tonight. Fun fact about me. I have three songs about eating * in my music library.” I said it deadpan, and surprised a throw your head back, let loose kind of laugh out of him.

It was official, I still loved to make him laugh.

“I bet you can’t even name three songs about eating *. In fact, that’s it: name three.”