Page 58 of Finding Jack
“That came to you way too easily.”
“I might have done a homecoming lip sync in high school with the swim team guys.”
“With full choreography?”
He nodded. “And Speedos and flowy white shirts. So bring on the quiz.”
I had a very important question I suddenly needed to ask him first. “What about ‘Shoop? Do you know it? Do you like it? Can you do it?”
“I don’t exactly have ‘a body like Arnold with a Denzel face,’ but yeah, I can Shoop.”
I stared at him without speaking for so long that he tentatively said my name. “Em? Did I answer wrong?”
I swallowed. Hard. “No. That was the right answer. Um, back to this quiz. First question: you’re going on a first date and it just happens to be their birthday. What gift do you get? A, I’m the gift. B, a bouquet of balloons. C, why do you have to get a gift if you don’t even know them, D, chocolate never fails.”
“All bad answers,” he said. “E, flowers. I’d choose ones that make me think of her personality.”
“Oooh. Nice answer. But I’m going to put you down for chocolate. Next, if you were onThe Voice, who would be your coach?”
“Blake Shelton.”
“It’s because of the plaid shirts, isn’t it?”
“Obviously. I would always know the dress code. I like dress codes that involve jeans for everything.”
“Noted. But what if your date wanted to go somewhere that required a brand-new pair of red high heels?”
His eyebrows went up. “If they’re the red heels I’m thinking of, then I would sew my own tux by hand if that’s what it took to make it happen.”
Oh, man. He was good. Very, very good. I cleared my throat and asked the next question. “Choose a cheesy nineties trend. Flannel, mood rings, “No Fear” shirts, golf visors, or starter jackets.” I rolled my eyes and marked flannel. “Got it.”
“It’s like you know me.”
I asked him a few more questions, pretended to tally the results, and read him the result I’d already written up ahead of time. “You got Brian Littrell.” He scoffed, but I ignored him and continued. “You’re an all-around good guy. You have a lot of patience, an even temper, and would probably work well in a profession with children.” I set the magazine down and studied him. “Interesting.”
He kept his expression neutral. “I thought this was supposed to tell me which Backstreet Boy I’m meant to be with.”
I shrugged. “I must have misread the name of the title.” Then I started mouthing words to him again. His forehead wrinkled then cleared. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed.
I disconnected the call and pulled my hair into a topknot of my own then slid a tongue depressor behind my ear like it was a pencil and called him back.
“Sorry again,” I said when he answered. His eyes flickered to the tongue depressor, but he didn’t say anything. “The Wi Fi is such a pain today. I have a bad feeling this call will drop a few more times.”
“Me too.”
I shot him a bright smile. By now he had to know what it would take to end this escalating nonsense. “Ready for the next quiz? We’re going to figure out which Marvel superhero you are.”
“Can’t wait.” A touch of amusement laced his voice.
“Would you pick to be part of The Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., The X-Men, or the Fantastic Four?”
“Avengers.”
Of course. I got the answers to other questions such as what motivated him, whether he’d ever date another superhero, and what he’d want for his last meal. (Bacon. It was alarming how perfect he was.) I slowed down on the last one. None of the answers mattered in terms of the result I would give him, but I wanted to know his answer to the question for real. “Interesting,” I said, reading it silently. Did I have the nerve to ask it? He leaned forward slightly. “Tonight’s the night,” I read aloud.
His eyebrows shot up again. “Are we going down this road?”
“Settle down and wait for the rest of the question. Tonight’s the night: you’re going on your third date with the most perfect person in the world. What makes them so attractive to you? Is it A, they have a—”
