Page 15 of Peripheral Vision

“Now, let’s ask the real questions,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly. There’s a glint to his eyes as he leans in a bit, the sudden change in his demeanor making the air between us crackle. “What’s your drink of choice?”

The corner of my mouth lifts in amusement. “I wondered when you were going to ask me that. How about we play a game?”

Intrigue lights his features as he asks, “What kind of game?”

“Two truths and a lie. If you guess the lie correctly, then not only will I have a drink with you, but you will also get to choose something else that you want from me.” I’m unsure if he will find this too childish. I’m not even sure how old he is, but I think it would be a good chance to get to know a few things about each other.

“I’m fascinated. And will we be guessing for me as well?” he asks.

Thinking for a moment, I reply, “Sure. If you don’t get my lie correct then I will guess for you, and if I don’t get yours correct then we can go back and forth until one of us does. Whoever wins gets the stipulation of their choice with an additional incentive. For example, if I win, then…” Shit. What do I want? I don’t know him well enough to choose something that feels remotely safe, the stakes suddenly feeling too high.

His hand brushes over my own. “If you win, then what?” he prompts. His tone is teasing but not overbearing, the lilt of his accent giving me the space to figure it out.

Exhaling, trying to play it cool, a mischievous smile tugs at my lips as an idea surfaces. “If I win, then you owe me a story. A good one. Something you’ve never told anyone else before. Deal?”

“I’ll bite. Game on.”

I pause, pondering what I’d like to ask him, the music changing asCloserby Nine Inch Nails starts. “Let’s see… I was born in Illinois, I’m an only child, and I have a collection of over one hundred postcards from different countries.”

Callum eyes me as he tries to decipher which statement is the lie before settling on, “Illinois.”

“No cigar,” I say while shaking my head no before giggling. “I don’t have that many postcards.”

“And here I was thinking that it was way too specific for it to be anything but the truth. Tricky, tricky, Dylan.” He runs his tongue over the top of his teeth. “My turn I suppose. I have been to three different continents, I can play the guitar and have performed in front of the public before, and I play in a rec soccer league on the weekends.”

I lean back, crossing my legs as I consider his statement. He has an aura that suggests he could play the guitar, a man with hidden talents. He also has the body for someone who exercises regularly. Given the slight British accent he is parading around as well, I’d guess that he has likely been to three continents. Damn it. Giving it my best guess I say, “Soccer?”

“Men’s top rec league, actually, love. And while I can play the guitar, I’ve never performed in front of the public before. You’re on.” He winks at me.

I squint my eyes at him. “I feel like I’m being played right now. Hmm. I’ve been skydiving twice, I’ve never broken a bone in my life, and I’ve gotten a selfie with a world-famous rockstar.”

He drums his fingers along the table, the party around us really starting to pick up as the bar starts to get slammed. The music seems like it gets louder too, a track that I don’t recognize playing. “I think you’re lying about never breaking a bone. A military brat likeyourself? There is no way that you made it through childhood without at least one mishap. Maybe a tumble out of a tree or off of a bike? A trampoline?”

His confidence is sexy… I’ll give him that. “Are you sure about that? Think carefully. What kind of kid do you think I was?”

He tilts his head, studying me with mock seriousness, like he’s trying to crack a riddle. “You? Definitely a daredevil. Probably had a permanent layer of dirt on your knees and a collection of scars to match. Your parents wouldn’t have had it any other way.” I wince at the mention of my parents, but he either doesn’t notice or is pretending to ignore my reaction to it.

Brushing it off, I shake my head slowly. “Final answer?”

“Final answer,” he says firmly.

I lean forward, resting my chin on my hand. “Ihavenever broken a bone. Not once.”

His jaw drops, and for a moment I let myself bask in his surprise. “Now who is playing who?”

“Scouts honor. I might have had more near misses than I can count, but never a single fracture.” I hold up three fingers like a scout in a mock salute.

He narrows his eyes at me, but there is amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth as the competition gets ramped up a notch. “Okay, but that means one of the other two is the lie. And now I’m doubting myamazingpeople reading abilities. I could see you skydiving. But the selfie with a rockstar?”

I shrug. “Your call, take your time. No pressure or anything. Not like the bar isn’t getting busy.”

The music shifts again into something more upbeat, the chatter of the party rising around us and he taps his fingers on the table again, indecision written on his face.

“Alright,” he says, pointing at me with a grin. “I’m calling it. It has to be the selfie.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “That one’s true.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait,what?Who was it?”

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