Page 114 of Dream On

When I was seven, I used to collect dragonflies and keep them in glass jars, convinced they were mythical creatures that granted wishes.

On my twelfth birthday, I received a neon-purple skateboard that I proceeded to try out in the driveway and promptly slammed into my parent’s van, fracturing my wrist in two places. I never rode that skateboard again.

My sister’s favorite color is chartreuse because it’s offbeat.

My favorite number is nine because I found nine lucky pennies all in one day, and for weeks, I waited for something magical to happen. Then I won a free ice cream sundae at Dave’s Diner.

And the moment I realized Lex had changed his number as I lay immobile in a stiff hospital bed with an operated-on knee, I broke down into tears that I swear shook the walls. The pain was long-lasting. Marrow-deep. Abandonmentjourneyed through me in dark, angry waves, more painful than the metal pins keeping my ligaments in place.

I reach down and scratch my kneecap through the thin layer of pajama bottoms.

That’s when an idea comes to mind, something to lighten the mood, to push away the dreary clouds moving over my head. Something I think we both need. “Want to play a drinking game?”

Lex eyes me skeptically. “Like what?”

“Two truths and a lie. We can learn a few things about each other. For research purposes. You know, to help sell our roles better.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“The game?”

“Literally everything you just said.”

A chuckle skims past my lips. “I can go first.” Clearing my throat, I start racking my brain for more random facts about myself. “Okay. Find the lie: I love sushi, I used to be a vegetarian, and I once auditioned for a reality TV show.”

Lex swallows down another sip, his gaze gleaming over the glass rim. “You were not a vegetarian. Your house always smelled like meat loaf.”

I smirk. “Wrong. I tried the veggie lifestyle for a month, until I missed meat loaf too much.”

“Sushi then.”

“Yep. Too slimy. Never even tried it.”

He leans farther against the couch and props an ankle on his knee. “I can speak three languages, I’ve been skydiving, and I was once kicked out of a country.”

My lips purse as I sift through his statements. “Is the first one true?”

“Nope. Fuck if I can speak three languages—just remembering English is hard. But I was definitely kicked out of a country once.”

“Wait, wait. I need more context.” I sit up straighter, interest piqued, as I inch closer to him on the couch. “What country?”

“Italy.”

“Stop it.”

“I was filming a movie in Rome two years ago. It was a big production, andwe were shooting a chase scene through some ancient ruins. Apparently, the permits hadn’t been cleared properly, and we ended up causing a huge mess. Long story short, the locals weren’t at all impressed, and the authorities got involved.”

“Oh my God.” My cheeks stretch with a goofy grin as I paint the visual in my mind. “I’ll have a hard time topping that.”

“I’ll wait.” He’s not smiling per se, but his eyes are lighter, his posture more relaxed.

Blowing out a breath, I flop backward, swallowing down a few more chugs of vodka-infused cranberry juice. The alcohol has my limbs loosening, my cheeks flushing with color. “I’ve traveled overseas, I once crashed a wedding, and I have a blue belt in karate.”

His eyebrows lift. “No fucking way you have a blue belt.”

“Presumptuous. And rude.”

“You fell off a stage, nearly biffed it in front of the paparazzi, and destroyed my bathroom single-handedly with only a pipe wrench.”