Page 64 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Biting her lip, she looks around before taking a long, large sip of her espresso martini. “I haven’t wanted to.”

“Makes sense.” I think for a moment, wondering how I can make this a little more comfortable for her. “How aboutwe do just that though. How about we pretend like thisisa first date?”

This elicits a small smile from her. “What, like I ask you questions?”

I nod. “You go first.”

“What was your first pet?”

“A salamander named Larry.”

Her brows furrow. “Aren’t you not supposed to touch them?”

I shrug. “If we’re going to be completely honest, it was actually technically an eastern newt that I found under some leaves when I was away at camp in upstate New York. He was a cool little guy. Begged my mom to let me bring him home. My mom has always had a soft spot for animals, so she got me a ten-gallon tank. Larry lived a really good life.”

“Have you had any others?”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a question.”

She smiles. The first real, genuine one I’ve seen today. In weeks, actually. “I’m so sorry. How terrible of me. Okay, go.”

“What are your hobbies?”

She considers this for a minute, taking a sip of her drink before leaning back and getting comfortable in her seat. A happy comfortable, not the timid, unsure look she had before.

“Well, I collect records and CDs. Obviously. I’ve been doing that since I was a kid. It was one of the ways my dad and I bonded. Other than that, I cook.”

And her cooking is amazing. I’ve been wanting to ask her to teach me, but I don’t want to come across as desperate. I’ve also had no trouble with my workouts considering I’ve been eating my favorite takeout pizza less and less.

The other night I had a dream the pizza was angry I had abandoned it though, and I have to say, it was terrifying.

“That sounds fun. Now, since I’m abiding by the rules, it's your turn.”

She bites her cheek, blush creeping up her cheeks. “What’s your favorite food?”

I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Sunny, let’s be honest for a second. You know the answer to that. Where are the hard-hitting questions? Ask something surprising.”

Reaching for my drink, I take a sip.

“Okay. Well, what’s your favorite sex position?”

And I promptly choke on it.

Sputtering, I cough into my fist, trying not to die.

But the woman across from me laughs.

“Do I have to answer that?” I ask.Please say yes.

“According to the rules, yes.”

“I feel like we’re just making up rules as we go.”

She shrugs. “You started it.”

“Fine. What’s my favorite sex position?” I think about it for a second. Sex is sex. Always has been for me. But what I fantasize about is a different story.

“I think that missionary is criminally underrated, and anyone who hates on it is an idiot,” I tell her with a shrug.

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