Chapter 40
“Gin.”
“I hate this game.”
I lay my cards out and count up the points. “Forty-two to me, so I win. Again.”
I collect the cards, and flag down the server for more coffee.
“That’ll Be the Day” is playing over the speakers at JJ’s. It’s surprisingly busy, especially with teenagers, who I suppose still have limited places to go hang out all night on this island that aren’t the beach.
“Want to play again?” I ask, shuffling the cards.
“Absolutely not.”
The server refills our coffee, I thank her, and she goes.
I sit the wrong way on the booth, my back to the wall, legs extended on the seat.
Austin subtly gestures at the table across from ours. “You think they’re gonna make it?”
I look at the young couple. “How old are they even? They look eleven.”
“They’re probably like sixteen,” he says. “That’s what we used to look like, you know.”
“No,” I say. “Maybe it’s all the organic food they grew up eating, but there’s no way we looked that young when we … when you and I—”
“Sure we did.”
I make a face. “But we had sex. And you, no, you didn’t look that young, you always looked like you. Like this. You were a real guy. You were hot. Annoying, but hot.”
“That’s more than I thought I’d get out of you this weekend.”
I throw a sugar packet at him.
“So sweet of you.” He puts it back.
“No,” I say. “To answer your question, I don’t think they’ll make it.”
“Why not?”
“Too young. You can’t possibly meet the person you’re going to end up with at such a young age.”
He catches on and says, “I don’t know about that. Maybe they’ll just need to live a little before they tie that knot.”
My foolish, hopeful heart lifts at this, and I remember how it felt to be in that Holiday Inn with him. To put myself out there, hanging on the promise of his words, of the week that had preceded that moment, only to realize I was grasping at nothing.
“Nope,” I say. “Puppy love. That’s all.”
“So—”
I can sense he’s about to follow Matt’s instructions. To talk about the past. But I don’t want that.
“This place is crawling with teens. I feel like they’re about to sing ‘Beauty School Dropout.’”
He looks out at all of the youth. “Finding out we’re in a musical would actually be one step too far for me. A time loop is one thing. Even if I do think Groundhog Day is Bill Murray’s worst—”
“Shit, wait, what time is it?” I ask, cutting him off.
He’s the one facing the clock, so he looks up at it and says, “Eleven.”
“God. I thought it had to be later. When was the last time I asked you?”
“Ten fifty.”
“Damn. This is going to be the longest night ever.”
He taps the stack of the cards on the table and says, “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”
“We have to do the thing. The midnight thing.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t need to be here.”
“So where?”
He puts down a wad of cash and holds out his hand.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.”