Chapter 26Bryan
Chapter Twenty-Six
brYAN
Truittism No.13: It’s all fun and games until it’s not a game anymore.
“I don’t know, Father. I’m thinking this may not have been a good idea,” I mutter as he drags me through the packed pub by my forearm.
We’re nearly a week out from “The Kiss,” and for the first time ever, I’m nervous. Like a geeky guy who wants to date the prom queen kind of nervous. It was a great kiss. Amazing, in fact. I’m just a little…unsure of how to proceed. What’s wrong with me? I’ve had more casual relationships than I can count. But now that I’m interested in something more…
I blame the stupid pie. If Janet Lahti hadn’t made me eat that stupid apple walnut berry thing, I wouldn’t have been overwhelmed by that tremendous sense of well-being and comfort. Well-being and comfort just make me feel out of sorts and anxious.
Go figure.
I’m such an idiot. And I guess I’m not the only one who thinks so, based on the look I’m getting from Hennessy O’Halloran. I guess I should’ve sent flowers after I kissed her. Or, at the very least, a text.
“Nonsense, Bryan, nonsense!” Father Romance reassures me. “You’re as welcome to compete in the pub quiz as anyone else.”
With the clock ticking down faster and faster, this pub quiz is one of the last tricks the O’Halloran sisters have up their sleeves. And, it has to be said, they’ve made impressive progress toward their goal. The crowd tonight is even bigger than the one that was here for the chili cook-off, and combined with the profits from the dart league, their recent theme nights for ladies, students, and the LGBT crowd, I’m guessing they’ve pushed past the fifty-thousand-dollar mark. Still, fifty-thousand only gets them halfway there.
I’ve only agreed to be a last-minute participant in this thing because the good father here told me he was fighting off a migraine and that he was afraid he wouldn’t make it through the night. Funny thing, though. Since he brought me across the street and into the pub, he’s looking like he feels a whole lot better.
“How’s that headache, Father?” I ask pointedly and watch with amusement as his brows draw in and his mouth droops.
“Oh, it’s a killer, Bryan. And it’s so frustrating, you know, because I have relapsing-remitting migraines. Have you heard of that?”
I shake my head. It could be a real thing, but my BS meter is squawking so loud I can hardly hear myself think. And how do you tell a man of God that you think he’s full of crap, anyway? That’s probably just what he’s counting on as Hennessy stalks toward us, looking incredibly sexy in a University of Minnesota sweat shirt, ball cap, and jeans. Jeez, I never expected to find myself hot and bothered by a girl wearing a picture of Goldy Gopher on her chest.
“And what’s going on over here?” she asks when she’s reached where I’m seated in Father Romance’s spot.
“Hennessy, I was just coming to find you,” he starts to explain. “I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather, and I’ve asked Bryan here to take my place on the church team.”
“Under the weather?” she scoffs. “Please, Father, I just saw you knock back a pint of Guinness and plate of Buffalo wings at the bar.”
“Yes, exactly, Henny. My stomach is in a bit of an uproar,” he’s quick to agree, rubbing his priestly tum-tum.
“Father, didn’t you just say it was a headache?” I remind him.
“Yes, that’s right. A migraine brought on by the wings, no doubt.”
“Uh-huh,” Hennessy says, hands on her deliciously curvy hips. I’m wishing I’d taken the time to put my hands on them when I had the chance. “What?” she asks, suddenly looking in my direction.
“Uh, sorry, what what ?” I counter, scrambling to figure out what she’s talking about.
“What are you looking at?”
Oh, that’s what she’s talking about. Squash, squash, squash that grin.
“Nothing…your sweat shirt. I like the gopher.” “Mmmm-hmmm,” she says skeptically, not buying the gopher line for a second.
“I think I’ll just go get myself a little rye to settle the tummy,” Father Romance says, slipping away, leaving me with the woman whose face I devoured right upstairs from where I’m sitting now.
“So,” I begin slowly.
“So…” she echoes, moving closer to my chair so no one will overhear us.
“How’ve you been?” I ask, though the dark circles under her eyes give me a clue.
“You really care?”
“I do.”
“Then maybe you should’ve called to see. Or, better yet, walked the fifty feet from your office to the pub.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, hoping my earnest face is earnest enough.
At last, she cracks a smile, unable to resist my charm another second. “I’m sorry, I didn’t really know what to say after…”
“The kiss,” I finish.
“Yeah, that,” she affirms, her cheeks suddenly flushing a lovely shade of pink.
“That’s okay. Maybe it was just one of those things,” I offer. “But, then again, maybe it wasn’t.”
She rolls her eyes at me in annoyance. “We should talk sometime soon, okay?”
“I’d like that,” I agree.
“Okay, then. I’ve got a quiz to run,” she says, straightening and turning to leave my table. When she’s a few feet away, she stops and turns back to me.“Good luck, Bryan.”
I get the distinct impression she’s not just talking about the quiz.
…
After nearly two hours, our team is in a three-way tie with the Senior Citizens Association team and the team from the university. I take a long pull on my beer—I’d stopped counting how many I’d had after five. And the shot of vodka. And whatever that weird, cotton-candy flavored drink was. Needless to say, I’m a little fuzzy on the details as we roll into the final question. Behind me, Jameson and Bailey are roaming from table to table, on the lookout for contraband cell phones and cheat sheets.
“All right, then, last question,” warns Julie Freddino, the Knitty Kitty lady and celebrity quizmaster. “Got your thinking caps on? Or, was that drinking caps?” She grins slyly, and a raucous cheer goes up. As for herself, Miss Freddino is wearing a pussy hat, a knit hat with cat ears poking up from the top, over her long purple hair.
“Here we go. Remember, no shouting out answers to the competitors, please,” she reminds the spectators after an unfortunate incident involving an imitation of the state bird that got the Mayhem Teachers team disqualified. “Your final question, for the win. Which animal is it illegal to tease in the state of Minnesota?”
Holy. Crap. I actually, honestly know the answer to this question, even as my teammates are scratching their heads. I ring the bell in the middle of the table, and all eyes swing
in my direction. Cat Lady makes her way to me with the microphone.
“You think you know the answer, Mr. L.A. ?” she asks me with a hint of disdain on the two letters.
“Yes…?”
“You don’t sound so sure about that. Have you consulted your teammates?”
I look around the table. The five of them are staring at
me.
“Noooo,” I admit.
She quirks a steeply arched eyebrow at me.
“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re right. Because if you’re wrong, you’re about to get them knocked out of the running,” she reminds me. “And you know what that means…” She uses a black-nailed finger to simulate someone slitting my throat.
“No pressure though, right?” I quip, sounding more shaky than confident.
“Well, Mr. Smarty Pants L.A. guy, what say you to the question ‘which animal is it illegal to tease in the state of Minnesota?’”
“The skunk,” I announce loud and clear.
There’s a murmur through the pub as some people nod while others shake their heads. The seniors’ team looks smug, as if they’ve already won.
Cat Lady looks at her card, looks back at me then grabs my hand, raising it in the air as if I’ve just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The team from the Basilica of St. Mary of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mayhem!”
I accept the hearty back-pats from my elated teammates and catch a wink and a thumbs-up from Father Romance. A deafening din of cheers and hoots and hollers rises up from the jam-packed, liquored-up crowd in O’Halloran’s Pub. It’s so loud I can’t hear myself think. But I can feel the tap on my shoulder and I spin around, expecting another congratulatory comment from the crowd.
I feel the fist across my face and spin around, not expecting to hit the floor as hard as I do.