Page 42 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

I blink, refocusing. "You have to answer with the first thing that comes to mind. No overthinking."

"That sounds dangerous," she says, but there's intrigue in her voice.

"That's the point."

She laughs, the sound light and genuine. "Fine. But I reserve the right to pass."

"Deal. First question: what's your biggest pet peeve?"

"People who walk slowly in the middle of the sidewalk." She answers immediately, then looks surprised at herself.

"See? Not so hard." I take a bite of my ice cream. "Your turn."

"Why hockey?" she asks.

"My dad played. I was better at it than Cade, so he pushed me harder." The honesty of my answer surprises me. I normally give some bullshit about loving the game, which is true, but not the whole truth.

"You don't have to do that, you know," she says softly.

"Do what?"

"Compare yourself to Cade. Measure everything against him."

I shrug, uncomfortable with how easily she's reading me. "Hard habit to break." Thanks to my parents for pitting us against each other.

She nods, accepting this without pushing. "Your question."

"What's something you're terrible at but love doing anyway?"

She laughs again. "Singing. I'm absolutely tone-deaf but catch me alone in my car and I'm a Grammy winner."

The image makes me smile—Hannah with her windows up, belting out lyrics. So different from the careful, measured woman beside me.

"I bet you sing country music," I tease.

"God no. '90s alternative rock. My dad's influence."

"Okay." I hold up my fist for a bump, which she gives with an exaggerated eye roll.

"What about you?" she asks. "Something you're bad at but love?"

"Dancing," I admit. "I have the rhythm of a drunk giraffe but put on 'Shook Me All Night Long' and these hips start jerking. Then I'm unstoppable."

She nearly chokes on her ice cream. "Oh my god. I need to witness this immediately."

"Never gonna happen. Your turn for a question."

We continue like this, trading questions that start innocuous but gradually dig deeper. I learn she's afraid of heights but loves roller coasters ("It's different somehow"), that she stress-bakes when exams roll around, that she wanted to be a veterinarian until she fainted during a field trip to a clinic in high school.

"Most embarrassing moment?" I ask, eating the last pieces of my cone.

She pauses, clearly weighing whether to answer honestly.

"Besides the obvious?" she finally says, and I know she's referring to our first encounter.

"Yeah, besides that. That's mine too, by the way."

She raises an eyebrow. "Really? The guy who's supposedly slept with half the campus is most embarrassed about a case of mistaken identity?"

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