“Pass, too easy, everyone likes pancakes better.”
My mouth drops open, “Everyone usually says waffles! But I always say they’re—”
“Too crunchy,” we say in unison.
“I suppose you’re on team undercooked cookie with me rather than overcooked?” he asks.
I snort, “Obviously.”
“Well, bollocks, we’re not drinking nearly fast enough. Big party or small gathering?”
“You’re cheating!” I smirk, “You can’t keep asking things you know my answer to.”
He sighs, “Fine.” He looks outside, then makes a face. “What’s worse, exposed toes or Crocs? One, two, three—”
Neither of us can answer.
He laughs, “Precisely. Too close to call. Just saw someone walk by in Crocs.”
“I mean Ithinkthat’s better than seeing someone’s toes? Maybe?”
“Then my answer was Crocs. Drink!”
I look out at the street also as I sip my drink and then ask, “Pick one: car, plane, train, or boat? One, two—”
“You mean to own?”
I glare at him. “You threw the question. No one owns planes, Boss.”
“I own two, but I’ll drink anyway,” he smiles into his drink.
“That’s not impressive to me, you know.”
He snorts, “I’ve gathered that.”
“And are they actually your planes or Daddy’s planes?”
“Dad has a few jets. I have two small planes I can fly myself,” he answers plainly, like that’s a normal sentence people say.
“You’re a pilot?”
His eyes do that twinkly thing, “Impressed now?”
“No,” I try to say but he’s onto me. “Okay, I mean, don’t you have to study for that and take tests and things?”
“And things. You think I can’t study? I did get a degree, you know.”
I lift a shoulder, “It’s hard to picture, you sitting and reading and, I don’t know, being serious.”
“Yes, well, it was a requirement in order to be able to impress women by telling them I’m a pilot.”
“Aaaaand there it is.”
He nudges me with his elbow. “Only joking. Mostly. I love the thrill of flying. My second plane is actually a Gamebird GB1.” I tilt my head, waiting for him to explain. “A little sport job that flies loops, goes completely vertical, you know, tricks. I can do tricks,” he wags his eyebrows. “Requiredeven moretraining.”
“Okay. I guess I’m a little impressed.”
“Bloody hell, finally!” He waves to the bartender. “Celebratory shots, please!”
