Rain started just after nine, soft at first, then loud enough to put a drumbeat on the windows. We killed the overhead lights and let the room glow from the stove and the little lamp by the books. He poured water into the pot. I found the chili oil with the skull on the label.
“Reckless,” he said, lips curving.
“Brave,” I said. “Two truths and a lie.” Lose a round, take a taste.”
He laughed and rolled his sleeves. “You’re trying to get me to cry.”
“I like you tender.”
We played at the counter while noodles boiled. He was good at lying. I was better at catching him. By the third round, there was a smear of red heat at the corner of his mouth and a look in his eyes that had nothing to do with peppers.
“Last one,” he said, voice low. “Winner calls the next move.”
“That feels like entra
