Page 33 of That Kind of Guy

My mouth fell open. “What? How did you knowthat?”

Miri was practically hyperventilating.

“Breathe,” Scott murmured to her, putting a glass of water in front of her.

Avery laughed and waved her hand in my general direction. “You just seem like a Top Gun kind of guy.”

I was speechless. My brothers and I watched that movie countless times growing up. I shook my head.

“Ooooh, this is getting good!” Miri beamed at us, clasping her hands together.

At least we were getting some of the questions right now, instead of looking like a pair of people who only agreed to get together based on strategy.

“Favorite animal,” Miri prompted, leaning forward.

“Hamster,” I shot, saying the first thing that came to mind.

Avery grimaced. “No one’s favorite animal is a hamster. All they do is sleep and poop. My favorite animal is a dog.”

“Everyone likes dogs,” I added, rolling my eyes. The only people who didn’t like dogs were sociopaths.

“Unless they’re a sociopath,” she added.

I frowned.

“Avery, what’s Emmett’s favorite animal?” Miri asked. She had lost a bit of her enthusiasm.

Shit. We needed to save this. Whatever animal Avery said, I’d agree to. Avery was watching me with a funny expression on her face. Her eyes were narrowed, and the corner of her mouth twitched up.

“Turtles.” She leveled me with her gaze. “Emmett’s favorite animal is the turtle.”

My stomach dropped. She knew. How did she know?

Miri’s mouth dropped in shock. “Is that true?”

I nodded, suppressing a grimace. I fucking hated turtles. In my mind, I heard the crunch of my childhood friend’s turtle shell as I accidentally rode over it with my bike, and my stomach churned.

I nearly gagged thinking about it. I’d never touched one, but they were so slimy and gross looking. Their heads were all wrinkly and gooey, like a decaying thumb.

My stomach churched again. I was going to be sick. I swallowed and focused on Miri.

“Iloveturtles,” I told her. “Love them. Can’t get enough of them.” As long as they stayed far away.

Miri reached out and slapped my arm lightly with a chiding look. “How come you’ve never visited my turtle rehabilitation center?”

I blinked at her. Beside me, Avery’s chest convulsed once before she propped her elbow on the table and hid her mouth with her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Avery managed. “Your what?”

Miri beamed at her. “I run a turtle rehabilitation center.”

Scott put his arm around her and gazed at her with affection. “They rescue turtles who have been hurt by boats in the harbor, nurse them back to health, and then release them into the wild. They also take pet turtles.”

“Emmett,” Miri said, “you havegotto volunteer with us. Oh my god, you would love it. You get to hold the turtles, wash the turtles, feed them, play with them, tell them all your secrets.”

She said it like those were good things.

“Would I have to touch them?” I asked.

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