Page 16 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“You do.”

“I want to see yours.”

She tilts her head, an amused look in her eyes. “You want me to lie to you?”

“I’ll ask a question, you tell me the answer, and I’ll guess if it’s a lie or if it’s the truth.”

“Hmm,” she mutters thoughtfully, closing the menu with careful hands. “And this will work in reverse as well?”

“Sure.”

“Truth,” she says, the corner of her lip tilting upward. “So, Alex with ac, were you in a church group growing up?”

I attempt to keep my face as passive as possible. “No.”

“Bullshit.” She laughs, and I find myself automatically laughing with her. It’s a natural reaction I haven’t experienced during an evening like this, and it jolts the heart in my chest, if only for a moment.

“How’d you know?”

She lifts a shoulder again, grazing her chin with the bulk of her jacket. “This game feels very community-group-esque.”

“Were you in a church group?”

“Yes,” she answers. I study her face for a moment, but I can’t tell if she’s for real or not.

“Truth?”

“Truth. Catholic school girl. I still have the uniform.”

I eye her teasing grin. “Bullshit.”

“Truth…I’ll even prove it, if you so desire.” She pauses for a second. “But let’s get something straight—I’m not exactly a practicing Catholic anymore.”

She taps her fingers against the cloth-covered table and grins, presumably at the thought running through her head. I grin at the action, then take a drink. Girl’s got a hell of a poker face.

The waiter comes and takes our orders. I get her the steak and she whispers her order to him.

“Should I be worried?” I ask when he leaves. Her shoulders lift the tiniest bit, flirting, teasing, and I feel as if I should be flattered and eating it up, but I still haven’t fully gotten there yet.

“No,” she answers.

“Bullshit.”

“Well, maybe a little worried.” She pinches her fingers together, then reaches for her beer. “Is steak really your favorite or were you just trying to see if I eat meat?”

“Steak is the best-tasting thing at this place.”

She eyes me up and down, then tilts her head with a smile. “Truth.”

I nod, confirming her guess. “You’re good at this,” I tell her. “What’s your secret?”

“I’ve been told I’m good at reading people.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, you got one right.” She smiles, and I’m not surprised I guessed correctly. That answer comes standard with that question, but it’s rarely the truth. “Truth is, you’re extremely transparent, Alex with ac.”

“Really?”

---