Page 39 of One Intimate Night

“Any reason?”

“It’s absolutely disgusting, Leo. Haven’t you ever tried it? It tastes like chemicals, death, and despair.”

I feel like that’s a bit of a stretch, but who am I to argue?

“Okay, well I hate the smell of a fridge?”

One of her eyes opens as she glances at me. “Like any fridge?”

“Yep.”

Her lips dip in a frown as her eyebrows shoot up.

“Your turn,” I say.

“Grape,” she says, once again without a second thought.

“Just… grape?”

“Anything grape. Grape candy, grape soda, anything.”

“Even actual grapes?”

She thinks for a moment. “No, real grapes are fine.”

“Hmm,” I think. “I hate the thought of being eaten by an alligator.”

Briar turns to look at me then, a concerned look on her face. “How many times do you think about being eaten by an alligator?”

My eyes widen. “A lot, Briar. Don’t you?”

“No,” she pauses, “but when I was little I used to have dreams about a polar bear chasing me up the stairs of my house.”

“A polar bear?”

She nods vigorously before the plane jolts, and her eyesclamping shut once again. “I didn’t think this through,” she mutters.

“I hate soggy chicken tenders,” I say next.

“I think everyone hates those.”

I shrug.

“Well, I hate texting,” she huffs.

“Is that why you never text me?”

“I text you enough, but I’d rather talk on the phone than text. Besides, we’re both home constantly anyways. We hardly have a reason to text.

True.

“I hate pickle juice.”

“That’s a reasonable one. I hate those little thumb holes that some long sleeve shirts come with now.”

“I don’t really know what you’re talking about but I’ll go with it.”

She nods.