Page 69 of Mr. Swoony

“You’re not afraid of needles?”

“Are you?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” He puffs out his chest and turns us to the right when we reach the corner.

“I don’t believe you. Give me something.” I take a sip from my drink.

He stops us around the corner of the busy street and pulls out his phone, resting his cup in the elbow of his arm against his chest. “No, there’s nothing.”

His thumbs move across the screen.

“You’re lying. Snakes? Flying? Heights?”

Conor shakes his head, still looking at his phone. “Nope.”

“Monogamy?”

He peeks up, and his expression says, “Are you really asking me that?”

After pressing more buttons on his phone and reading over the screen, he pockets his phone. “I hope you’re not afraid of needles because tomorrow at ten, you’re giving blood. There were no more appointments available for today.”

“Just me?” I’m trying not to be disappointed that he’s having me do it on my own.

“I’ll be there. Good thing for you, I’m not afraid of needles. Nor am I afraid of monogamy, for the record.”

I bite my lip. “It was just a guess. When was your last serious relationship?”

He leads us back to the main street. “College maybe, and even then, it was only a few months.”

“Interesting.”

He sips his drink, side-eyeing me. “My schedule has always been the problem. In high school, I had girls I went to dances with, and I had one girlfriend I dated for, like, six months. I rarely saw her. In college, I was too focused on making it to the professional league, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my future for a relationship. I think over time, you just get used to going out with the guys and picking up women.” He takes another sip of his drink. “As horrible as it sounds, early in my career, it was kind of a high. You go from a regular guy to women acting like you’re a celebrity they can’t believe they’re seeing in the flesh. I probably took advantage of it truthfully.”

An elderly man with a cane is walking down the street, and he turns toward the local tea shop. Conor hurries over and opens the door for him. He thanks him, giving him a double-take but enters without asking Conor if he is who he thinks he is.

“Hey, make your own list.” I grin at him.

The door shuts behind the man, and we continue down the sidewalk.

“I did.” Conor nudges me with a light tug on my elbow. “You inspired me.”

“Are you going to share it with me?”

He tosses his cold brew into a trash can as we pass by, raising his fingers as if he scored a basket. Always the athlete. “I don’t know.”

“Hey. I shared mine with you.”

He shrugs. “Technically, it fell out, and I found it.”

“Come on.”

“What’s it to you?” he asks, grabbing my hand and jogging across the street before we miss the light.

I like the way my hand feels in his, but he drops it as soon as we’ve cleared the road.

“Tell me one thing from the list.” I hold up a finger.

“All right. To go offline for a weekend.”

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