The smirk he gives me is annoyingly sexy. “I’ll get right on that.”
I ignore his sarcasm and continue on. “I should probably come to more of your games, right? Maybe attend a few away games that are semi-local?”
He tilts his shoulders in a half-shrug.
Sighing, I pick up my phone. Nailing down details and specifics will take trial and error, and simply asking Cameron won’t achieve anything except exasperation.
“All right, let’s get to know each other instead.”
“Like what’s your favorite color?”
“Pink, but no,” I reply. I scroll to my notes app and tap on the list I created, then hand the device over to Cameron. “Here. This is my full list of get-to-know-you questions.’”
His brows furrow as he scans them. “What the fuck is this?”
The confusion in his deep tone is adorable.
“A list of questions that are supposed to help us get to know each other better,” I reply, angling closer to him. “Obviously. I just told you that thirty seconds ago, remember?”
“Knowing what animated character I had a crush on as a kid will help you know me better?”
“Yes. If you were more into Kim Possible than Shego, you probably like the more wholesome, heroic vibes over edgy and antagonistic.”
“That’s… I don’t even know what that means, to be honest.” He sighs, scrolling down the list. “And why do you need to know my social security number?”
I laugh, a thrill running through me. “I snuck that one in there for fun.”
“You want to know how I like my eggs cooked? What the one thing I want to un-invent is? My preferred brand of condoms? Jesus, Kennedy.” He slumps back in his chair.
“These are things a girlfriend would know about her boyfriend,” I argue.
And I’m curious.
Sue me.
“This is going to take us a year to get through,” he huffs, focus never straying from the screen. “Some of these questions are outlandish.”
I nod, fighting a smile. “You’ve gotten to the question meant to deduce whether you’re trying to steal my inheritance, haven’t you?”
“Your inheritance?” He lifts his head, his brows pulled low. “What is this? A game of CLUE?”
“It’s not an inheritance in the traditional sense, but if my sisters and I sell the Beanie Babies we collected during childhood, there’d be a decent nest egg. We have the extremely rare Princess Diana Beanie Baby, which is going for four-figures on eBay.”
Cameron’s green eyes lock on me, and I shift under the weight. “I have no interest in your Beanie Babies.”
I bite back the urge to say, “Or me.”
“I’m more of a Mighty Beanz guy,” he finishes.
“What’s Mighty Beanz?”
“They’re these little plastic bean things with faces that wobbled around.” He holds his index finger and thumb about an inch apart. “They—fuck it, I’ll just show you.”
He scoots his chair closer to mine, the move causing a whiff of his aftershave to waft over me, a minty, spicy scent that’s deliciously manly. Without warning, he opens the web browser on my phone.
Instinctively, my heart lurches. Thank God my search bar is blank. It’s not like I’d have porn pulled up or anything, but there’s a very high likelihood the randomness of what I last searched would raise questions.
I once had to explain to Maya why I looked up both “Do mermen have human genitalia or is it covered in scales?”and“How doSurvivorcontestants not get yeast infections?” and that isn’t an experience I’d like to repeat.
