“‘Stupid’ is a better word. Your turn, tough guy.”
He leans back, muscles flexing. “One: I killed my first man at fifteen. Two: I once nursed a stray puppy back to health. Three: When I was fourteen, I stole my father’s vintage Lada and drove it into the Neva River.”
I study his face for a minute. “The puppy’s a lie.”
His smirk glints in the dying flashlight beam. “What gave it away?”
“The part where you’re not secretly a Disney princess.”
“Pity. I’d look good in a ballgown.”
My turn again. I tuck hair behind my ear, pulse thrumming where my thigh touches his. “One: My college boyfriend proposed with a Ring Pop at a Waffle House. Two: I tried dating other men while I was pregnant, just to prove I could move on. Three: I’ve never been in love before you.”
Sasha’s flashlight sputters.
