Page 77 of The Taskmaster

“My birthday is the fourteenth of November,” he replied.

“A Scorpio,” I stated.

“If you say so,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ve lived in this area all my life. No family. I keep myself to myself. And I love... true crime.”

“True crime?” I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t see. “Is that because you’re making notes while you watch?”

“It doesn’t hurt to stay ahead of the game.”

We lay in the dark for a moment, neither of us speaking.

I broke the silence first.

“That’s all surface level stuff, but what if I want to know something personal? Something that shows me who you really are.”

He pulled me closer and whispered, “Maybe we can play a game?”

“Ah yes. The Taskmaster. Because you love playing games to win.”

“This one wouldn’t be about winning. Call it a research game.”

“And the game is?” I asked.

“Two lies, one truth.”

I giggled. I didn’t expect him to come out with an icebreaker game, but I was ready to give it a go. “Go on then. You start.”

“Okay.” He took a moment to think, then said, “One, I taught myself to drive, but I don’t actually have a license. Two, my first pet was a rat that lived in our house, and I kept him in a shoe box. And three, I don’t actually know the exact date of my birthday, I don’t have a birth certificate, but I know my mum said it was in November, so I chose the fourteenth.”

“Jesus, those are all pretty grim, Isaiah.” He hummed in agreement, and I frowned trying to think which would be the best of a bad lot to go with. “I think two, the pet rat.”

“Correct.”

“Thank goodness,” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“I called him Sandy. He bit through the cardboard of the shoe box one night and escaped. Scared the shit out of my mum.”

“I bet she loved you for that.”

“It was the least of her problems.” He leaned into my neck, making me shiver as he said, “It’s your turn.”

I was rubbish at games like this, so it took me a little longer to think of mine.

“Okay, here goes. One, growing up, we moved house every two years. Two, my parents didn’t let me date until I was eighteen. And three, I had an imaginary friend called Velma.”

“Really hitting me with the tough ones, hey?” he joked, and then instantly replied, “The imaginary friend.”

I slapped his hand, laughing. “How did you guess so fast?”

“I knew you’d leave the truth till last, and it sounded the most plausible.”

“Really?” My brows shot up to my hairline.

“Yeah. You’ve got a stable family. You’re not the kind of girl to be told what she can and can’t do. So the imaginary friend was obvious.”

“Hmm.” I knew he’d be competitive. “What can I say? I was obsessed with Scooby Doo and Velma was my favourite. Apart from Scooby, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he teased, and I poked my elbow into his ribs.