Page 42 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
“Bathroom selfies, especially when the mirror is dirty.” This is a no-brainer. “Shirtless gym selfies. Bios that say ‘Just ask.’ No thank you, Brad. I willnotbe asking—do the work!”
It’s not a good sign when they can’t be bothered to add two or three sentences about themselves in an app where you’re one goal is to GET TO KNOW SOMEONE.
Lazy.
Hard pass.
Turner laughs, his head tipping back against the headboard, exposing his neck and a patch of stubble I probably shouldn’t be staring at.
Then I poke him beneath the blanket with my toe. “Okay, your turn. What’s your opener?”
“My what?”
“Your opener,” I clarify. “Let’s say you match with someone. What’s the first thing you say by way of greeting?”
He groans. “I hate this question.”
“Because you don’t have one?” I grin smugly.
“No. Because Idohave one, and it’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, now youdefinitelyhave to tell me,” I say, jabbing him, teasing him now because I am dying to know how he starts conversations with women.
Turner shifts, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Absolutely not.”
No can do.
He huffs a breath, then admits, “I usually go with… ‘Two truths and a lie?’”
I stare at him. “Turner—that’s brilliant.” Seriously. Why have I never thought of this?
“You think so?”
Hell yes. “It’s casual, it’s intriguing, it’s like… a sexy little nugget of an icebreaker.”
Turner lifts one brow. “Sexy nugget?”
“It’s not screaming ‘Hey, wanna sit on my face or blow me?’ but you’re also not asking what someone does for work or if they smoke like you’re conducting a job interview.”
He sits stunned, staring at me. I gather he wasn’t prepared for me to use ‘blow me’ or ‘sit on my face’ in a sentence.
Then he coughs into his fist, like he’s trying to stifle a laugh but also maybe re-evaluate every decision that’s led him to this moment. “Okay.”
“Give me an example of your two truths—and your lie.”
He exhales, then counts off on his fingers. “Here we go. One—I once got a concussion from falling out of a golf cart. Two—I can play piano. Three—I’ve been skydiving in Switzerland.”
I squint at him over the rim of my water glass. “All of those feel extremely plausible, which is honestly annoying.”
He chuckles. “That’s the point.”
I study him—hard. “Okay, skydiving feels real. I don’t know why, but I can totally picture you in a jumpsuit, strapped to some mountain man named Lars, screaming like a little girl as you plummet to earth.”
“That is oddly specific.”
“Thank you.” I point a finger at him. “Piano is giving me pause, though. Your fingers are too big. I feel like they’d crush the keys.”
