Page 15 of Doughn't Let Me Go

He laughs. “Guilty.”

“Two slices coming up.” The waiter taps the counter and walks away.

“Pepperoni is a classic,” Porter says, picking up a few fries. “Slice is cool with all its weird pizzas and everything, but sometimes you just want to go back to basics.”

“I agree.”

We don’t say anything for a few minutes, diving into our milkshakes and fries.

We go for the same fry at the same moment, our fingers making contact.

It’s like one of the moments in the movies where everything just sort of stops moving and our eyes connect.

He stares at me intently, and I stare back.

The air around us pulses, and I have this distinct feeling that if we were alone right now, we’d already be naked.

“We are so cliché,” Porter mutters, breaking the awkward tension.

I laugh. “Horribly so. My turn?”

He nods. “Yep. Give me a good one this time.”

“A good one? Hmm…good one, good one. Let’s see…” I snap my fingers together. “My eyes are two different colors.”

“Lie.”

I make a mark under my name this time.

Ha! I’m finally on the board.

“No way!”

I lift a shoulder. “I wear contacts to hide it.”

“I want to see.”

“No way.” I take another long pull from my milkshake. “You have to earn that privilege. Only a handful of people have seen it.”

“I’ve never met someone with two different-colored eyes before.”

“Don’t try to play the sympathy card with me.”

“You suck.”

I bark out a laugh. “Thank you. Your turn.”

“Even though I feel like that was a trick question, I’m going to let it slide. I’m twenty-six.”

I look him over, searching for any sign that will tell me differently.

Which is stupid because I know several people who look too young or too old for their age.

“Lie.”

He makes a mark under my name. “Very good. I’m twenty-eight.”

I swallow.

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