“Ass,” she mutters. I can’t stifle my laugh. This girl can’t look me in the eye when I talk about making her come, but she has no problem telling me when I’m an ass. I decide to take the long way back to her place, the one with the most stop lights.

“Red light. My turn.” I bring the truck to a stop and turn in my seat to face her.

“But you can’t use any of my questions! That’s cheating,” she asserts incredulously.

“For someone who’s never played, you sure enjoy setting the rules.” A shrug is her only response. “Fine. Biggest fear?”

“Uhhh…”

“Hurry up, little cheater,” I tease.

“Spiders.” Her voice goes up an octave and I can tell she’s lying. All the intimate things I’ve asked her, the confessions about her childhood, and this is what she chooses to lie about?

“Liar. New rule, you lie, you forfeit.”

“Fine. Rejection. Ass,” she retorts with a sigh and holds up her index finger. She’s vulnerable and fierce. I love it.

“Favorite song?”

“Stand By Me.” She holds up a second finger. Goose loves keeping score. I’ll have to remember that.

“Which version?”

“The Temptations. But that doesn’t count as another question!”

“Favorite food?”

“Chocolate.”

“Should’ve guessed that one. Least favorite food?”

“Escargot.” She makes a scrunched face and shakes in her seat with disgust. We both laugh.

“Most embarrassing moment?”

“Getting rejected by you in the library. Thanks for that.” She holds up a fifth finger and eyes the stoplight.

“Name something you can’t live without. Other than me, of course.” I smirk. She doesn’t blink.

“The Internet.”

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“Paris.” Dejected, she holds up seven fingers now, knowing I’m about to win.

“Favorite thing about me?”

“Green light!” she shouts triumphantly. “That’s only seven.”

“Nice try. That’s eight. I finished asking the question before the light changed, so it counts. And you have to answer.” The car behind me honks, but I don’t pull forward.

“You better move. It’s a green light.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you answer me.” I shift the truck into Park, ignoring the increasing amount of honking coming from behind us.

“Please go.”

“Just answer. And remember, you lie, you forfeit.”

“God, you’re obnoxious! Fine. You make me feel normal. Now move!” she shouts at me, crossing her arms and sinking into her seat.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I soften the taunt with a gentle squeeze of her thigh.

“Excruciating.” She tries to sound annoyed, but there’s embarrassment and vulnerability underneath it.

I pull the truck forward and we’re quiet for a few blocks. “How do you feel usually?” I’m not sure why I want to know.

“What do you mean?”

“You said I make you feel normal. How do you usually feel?”