I scowl at the side of his head. Ridiculous.
That said, it would be kind of nice to listen to music. Plus, I have the perfect “relaxing drive” playlist on my phone.
“I’ll put music on,” I say, “but only if you tell me three facts about yourself.”
This is a trick I’ve used on several first dates. I’ve told you before, people love talking about themselves.
“Pass,” John says.
I throw my hands up. “You can’tpass. Honestly, do you want me to enjoy this date or not?”
John looks at me. “Are you not having fun?”
My lips twist, fighting a smile. Because, yes, maybe it is sort of fun bantering with him.
“Three facts,” I say stubbornly.
“Three facts, and then ten minutes of silence,” John counters.
“Why did you even ask me out if you don’t like to hear me talking?” I say indignantly.
John snorts. “I don’t mind you talking—”
“How romantic.”
“—but there’s no point in talking just for the sake of talking. If you have something to say, I want to hear it. But you don’t have to talk just to fill the silence.”
“You and I are very different people,” I say dryly, which makes him laugh again. “But fine, deal. Three facts for ten minutes of silence. I’ll go first. Let’s see. I’ve never broken a bone... I had my appendix taken out in high school... and I think beer’s disgusting.”
“I like beer.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. That doesn’t count as one of your facts.”
“Fine.”
“And nothing boring!” I add quickly. He gives me an exasperated look, and I grin.
“Three facts...” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Okay. One: I bought this car in Calgary and drove it back here last summer. Two: I’m going to Toronto later this summer for my buddy Kareem’s wedding. And three...” He thinks for a minute and then shakes his head. “I’ve got nothing.”
“You can’t have nothing,” I scold. “Surely you can think ofoneother fact about yourself. I could name five facts about you myself!”
John snorts. “Can you?”
I sit a little straighter. “Sure can. Watch this.” I count on my fingers. “You drink your coffee black. You don’t wear a watch. You speak Spanish and French.” I hesitate. This is a little hard, now that I think of it. “Ah! Got it. You like old cars, and you’re a little rude to customers.”
“Vintage cars,” John corrects. “And I’m wearing a watch right now.”
I roll my eyes. “I meanmostof the time.”
“You mean at work.”
“That’s most of the time! It counts. I win.”
“Was this a competition?”
“Duh. I bet you couldn’t name five things about me.”
I’m expecting him to brush me off, but instead he looks at me, his brow crinkled in thought. The silence stretches out a moment, long enough for me to get a bit nervous about what he might say. “You’re too nice to customers,” he says finally. “And you feel like you have to talk a lot to entertain people.”
