Twisted-Games

Subway, a nail salon, and a restaurant named Walia.
“Best Ethiopian spot in the city.” Rhys cut the engine.
My heart tripped. Ethiopian was my favorite cuisine. Of course, Rhys
could’ve chosen it at random without remembering the fact, which I’d let slip
one time during a drive home.
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “Best Ethiopian is on U Street.”
It wasn’t. One taste of Walia’s injera sourdough flatbread and tibs wot
beef half an hour later, and I knew Rhys was right. It was the best Ethiopian
spot in the city.
“How did I not know about this place?” I demanded, breaking off another
piece of injera and using it to scoop up the meat. In Ethiopian culture, the
bread was an eating utensil as much as it was food.
“It flies under most people’s radar. I guarded an Ethiopian VIP for a few
months. Only reason I found out about this place.”
“You’re full of surprises.” I chewed my food, thinking. After I
swallowed, I said, “Since it’s my graduation night, let’s play a game. It’s
called Getting to Know Rhys Larsen.”
“Sounds boring.” Rhys flicked his eyes around the restaurant. “I already
know Rhys Larsen.”
“I don’t.”
He heaved a long-suffering sigh, and I fought the urge to cheer because
the sigh meant he was about to cave. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, I
reveled in it like a kid in a candy store.
“Fine.” Rhys sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, the picture
of grouchiness. “Only because it’s your graduation night.”
I smiled.
Bridget: one. Rhys: zero.
For the rest of dinner, I peppered him with questions I’d always wanted to
ask, starting with the small stuff.
Favorite food? Baked sweet potatoes.
Favorite color? Black. (Shocker).
Favorite movie? Reservoir Dogs.
After I exhausted the basics, I moved on to more personal territory. To
my surprise, he answered most of my questions without complaint. The only
ones he skirted were those about his family.
Biggest fear? Failure.
Biggest dream? Peace.