"Only when I look at you, baby." I winked back and she laughed, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. I tossed the granola bar back and when she handed me the water after taking a large drink herself, I took a long sip.
"We better finish the water in this bottle. If nature calls, this bottle is what we're going to have to use."
She laughed. "I think I'll be okay for an hour. I stopped in the ladies room right after I left the bar."
I nodded. "I think I'll last too."
After a minute, I said, "Okay, another game–this one's called Quick Draw Favorites. I ask a question and you answer it with the first thing that comes to mind. Then you can do the same to me."
She looked at me suspiciously. "Is this another trick game that's going to have us kissing in the middle of the elevator again?"
"God, I hope so." I laughed. "But, no, just for fun to pass the time. You in?"
She nodded. "Okay."
"Okay. Favorite movie."
"Titanic."
"No. Pick again."
She choked on a laugh. "No? Um, I thought these were my answers."
"They are, but I can't let you pick a movie as craptastic as Titanic without intervening."
She turned fully toward me. "How is Titanic craptastic? It's an epic love story! It's beautiful! What problem do you have with Titanic?"
I sighed. "Grace, there was plenty of room on that floating door at the end of the movie. Are you going to tell me you weren't pissed off after they went through everything they did to survive and then they couldn't try harder to get them both up on that piece of wood, a piece of wood that was plenty big for both of them if they had just tried a little harder?"
She burst out laughing. "Wait, this is brilliant. You actually don't like Titanic because it isn't romantic enough for you. That's sweet." She batted her eyelashes at me.
My brows snapped down. "No, I don't believe that's what I said. What I said was that I like some realism in my movies. That was a cop-out because the writer thought Jack Dawson should sink to the bottom of the ocean."
She burst out laughing again.
"Are you done?"
She made a poor attempt to wipe the smirk off her face. "Yes. Next question."
"Favorite color."
"Robin's egg blue."
I screwed up my face and glanced to the side, and then back at her. "I'm going to let that one slide. Favorite season."
"Fall."
"Favorite dessert."
"Crème br?lée."
"Favorite sex position."
She paused and a pink color crept up her cheeks. "Um, missionary?"
I stared at her for a minute. "So, not only did that college boyfriend not make you come, but he didn't try any other positions with you, did he? What kind of jackass did you hook up with anyway?"
"Stop! He was a nice guy. Very, um, sweet and uh, considerate."
I snorted. "I bet. Okay, you're depressing me. Your turn."
"You're such an asshole." But she said it with a small smile on her face. "Favorite movie."
"Fight Club."
"Never saw it."
"You never saw Fight Club? That's a crime."
She laughed softly. "Favorite color."
"Blue."
"What shade of blue?"
"Just fucking blue."
"That's not a shade."
"Yeah it is."
She laughed. "Okay. Favorite season."
"Fall."
"We do have something in common! It's a miracle!"
I laughed. "Who would have guessed?"
"Not me. Favorite dessert."
"Bananas Foster–my granny used to make it for me."
She smiled and then looked straight ahead. "Well, that was fun."
"Wait, you didn't ask me the last one."
"No, I didn't. I don't want to know. Really. I'm sure it's something I've never even heard of before. You can keep that one to yourself."
I laughed. "Chicken."
She grinned over at me and I was momentarily taken off balance by the beauty of her smile. I loved her teeth. I loved everything about her mouth. I wanted to taste it again. I stretched my legs out. My pants suddenly felt a little too tight.
We were both quiet for a minute. I was thinking about how things had seemed to shift between Grace and me. There was almost a… comfort level between us as we sat there listening to the quiet elevator music and sipping on her bottle of water. I was also thinking about how I had told her things about my history that I had never told anyone else before. There were people that knew because they were there. But I had never willingly shared my upbringing with anyone who didn't already know for one reason or another. But the fact of it was, no other woman had ever asked me to talk. And maybe it was as simple as that. I couldn't recall another woman who had wanted to hang out with me for my scintillating conversational skills. Maybe it was because I didn't have any. Or maybe it was because no one had ever been interested in finding out whether I did or whether I didn't.
We were both sitting there together, comfortable and at ease, but it definitely hadn't started that way.