Unchasable

Chapter 13

YVONNE

A few hours in and I already know two things about Levi.

Number one: he really loves to drive.

And number two: he ain't such a bad person to be around. You'd expect there to be awkward silence and all given the fact we're going to be fake engaged in a few weeks, but there is an actual conversation going on, and Levi also seemed to open up. He's smiling at the stuff I say, and even laughs when I make some jokes, him also making some.

I'd never admit it to him, but his company doesn't suck.

"Okay, let's play a little game", I suggest, taking a sip from my glass of red. We're at an Italian place, and I just got the best pasta with truffles I have ever had in my whole entire life.

Levi raises an eyebrow curious, so I explain: "Let's play two truths and a lie. We'll each say two truths and one lie, and the other one has to guess the lie. Then, we switch."

He nods agreeing, but gives no sign to want to begin. I take that job upon myself. "Okay, so: I was born and raised in Cordelia. I love matcha lattes. And I have attended a Formula One race before."

He seems to think about it, then answers. "The matcha lattes one. Because there is no way you like that shit."

I gasp offended, leaning over the table to hit his arm. "Matcha lattes are the best, asshole."

"They are too green."

"What do you have against green?"

"They look like a squashed meadow."

"But they taste like heaven."

He chuckles, noticing he lost this fight. It's then he genuinely turns worried as he asks: "So what was the lie?"

"Oh, I've never attended a Formula One race before."

His eyes go wide open. "Like never?"

I shake my head. He starts shaking his in disbelief. "And you're marrying a F1 driver?"

"I didn't know actually having attended a race was a condition."

"Don't worry, dove, we'll work on it. By the end of the year, you'll be screaming my name."

My cheeks blush. Shut off your dirty mind, Yvonne, he doesn't mean it like that.

Or does he?

"Your turn", I quickly change the topic. If he had noticed it, he has the common sense not to say anything.

"I'm from the States. I'm a 6'2. And when I first saw you, I was not attracted to you."

Definitely the third one is right.

"You're not a 6'2", I let out convinced.

"How come?"

"Well, 6'2 is only something reserved for fictional men. Like no real men does that. It's only a thing said in books to make us girlies go crazy."