Chapter 8 #2
“What does your other sibling do?” Ben asks.
“She’s a professional golfer.”
Ben nods as he guides his glass back to his lips. “Your family gatherings must be so fascinating.”
“That’s one way of describing them.” Charlie dabs his forehead with a cloth napkin. “Does this place have air conditioning? It’s sweltering.”
“Who wears long sleeves in summertime?” I shoot back.
“We’re in the mountains. I expected the temperature to drop at night.” He unbuttons his sleeves and pushes up the fabric to expose a pair of well-toned forearms. I don’t often see muscles like that at camp. Most of the men are more interested in lifting their comic book collection than weights.
Unsurprisingly, all the teams nail the television category, so it’s on to the next one.
By now Charlie has polished off two beers in quick succession and I realize his khaki-clad thigh is pressed against mine.
I can’t decide whether it’s deliberate on his part.
If I move over an inch, half an ass cheek will be hanging off the seat.
Then again, I kind of like the way it feels, being this close to him, not that I would admit it out loud.
That’s what my mother would’ve called an ‘inside thought.’
Charlie surprises us by helping with two answers during the round on British Royals.
“Why, Charles Dickens Darwin the Fifth, I did not expect you to be the dark horse on that one.”
His grin seems to be powered by beer and joyful satisfaction. “You can thank my mother. She’s obsessed with the royal family.”
“What has this generic draft beer done to you? Normally you have an excellent poker face, but right now you’re very transparent.”
He leans closer, his expression bordering on devilishly sexy. “Am I?”
I flick his forehead. “Yes.”
He straightens. “Well, you have one of the worst poker faces I’ve ever seen. I can tell when you know the answer before you even open your mouth. It’s written all over your face.”
I don’t take it as an insult. “Deception isn’t one of my strengths.”
“We lawyers have to play our cards close to the vest. It’s part of the job.”
“Well, not that you asked, but I prefer this Charlie, the one who wears his feelings on his face.” I don’t know what possesses me—probably the beer I finished—but I pick up the purple Sharpie and write across his forehead. To my delight, he laughs and calls me nuts.
The next category is announced—Flora and Fauna. I lock eyes with Ben and smile. He’s a plant aficionado and Laura is an animal expert. This round should be a bloodbath.
As Manny fires off the first question, Charlie leans forward and scrutinizes my face to the point where I’m worried he’s noticed a zit that hasn’t surfaced yet.
“What is it, Mr. Thorpe? Does my face tell you I know the answer?”
He leans back, continuing to study me with an intensity that makes my head buzz, or maybe that’s the alcohol.
“No,” he finally says.
“Aha! You can’t read my face.” I jot down the answer.
“Just because you’re confident doesn’t mean you’re right,” Charlie whispers, and his mouth is so close to my earlobe that it sends an involuntary shiver through me.
“You seem chilly,” Charlie says. “Maybe you should wear a long-sleeved shirt next time.”
“You’re hilarious.” Then it’s my turn to laugh when the answers are announced and mine is correct.
I raise my empty glass. “Victory never tasted so sweet.”
He touches his forehead. “This washes off, right?”
“I’m sure it will … eventually.” I lean forward so that my nose is close to his. He somehow manages to smell minty fresh in the midst of all this stale beer and smoke. “What are you feeling right now?”
His blue-green eyes meet mine. “Drunk.”
“That’s not a feeling,”
“I beg to differ. Have you ever suffered from bed spins?”
I pull back to regard him. “I’m talking about emotions, Chickie. How do you feel right now?”
He shrugs.
I sigh. “Angry? Sad? Disappointed?”
“None of those things.”
“That’s good at least.”
Laura raps on the table between us. “Pay attention, you two. The final category is Geography.”
I’m mildly disappointed. I was hoping for sports so we could make better use of Charlie.
Ben leans forward. “Remember, we only need three correct answers to win.”
Laura grimaces. “I’ll have to defer to the rest of you. I’ve always struggled with geography. The best I can do is the seven continents.”
I look at Ben. “You know country flags, right?”
He nods. “And the oceans.”
Charlie gives a dramatic clearing of his throat. “This might be my time to sparkle.”
“In that case, I should’ve used Angela’s marker. Theirs has glitter.”
The first two questions stump us, but Charlie seems fairly confident in his answers, so we stick with them. He jots down answers to the remaining questions without hesitation, although his penmanship is dubious at this point.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
He caps the Sharpie as a sleepy grin overtakes his face. “Care to wager?”
“Thanks, I’ll pass.”
Turns out Charlie was right about the first two questions. Unfortunately, so is Gloria, which means InGloria’s Bastards are now tied with Balrog’s Revenge. The pressure is on.
“The answer to number three is Czechoslovakia.”
Charlie pounds his fists excitedly on the table, nearly knocking over his glass in the process, not that there’s any beer left. He polished another one off during the round.
Gloria’s team moans, which is a good sign.
Our answer to number 4 is also correct, which leaves one to go. We huddle together, waiting for the answer.
“The final answer is the Ganges river.”
“We won!” I reach over to hug Ben, but he’s already hugging Laura. I turn and slap hands with Charlie instead.
“Of course we won. I’m a Thorpe. It’s in my DNA.” He looks around the room with droopy eyes. “What do we win anyway?”
Manny drops a book of coupons on the table. “Great game, everybody. See you next year.”
Charlie stares at the coupon book. “This isn’t a trophy.”
“No, this is better. They’re all local establishments. I’m sure they would appreciate the business.”
He picks up the book and thumbs through it. “What’s a Peter Pan Pizza? Do they sprinkle it with fairy dust?”
“Pixie dust,” I correct him. “Tinker Bell is a pixie.”
“Can I see?” Laura asks. He slides the coupon book across the table to her.
“Will it help if I buy you a beer?” I ask.
“I’ve probably had enough of those for one night. It’s a long walk back to my cabin from the parking lot. Wouldn’t want to fall in the lake on my way there.”
We split into Ubers, and Charlie and I end up alone in the backseat of a Volkswagen Beetle, which seems even more compact when your fellow passenger is the size of a lumberjack.
I was sure he only had four limbs until this moment.
Now I’m questioning everything I thought I knew about his bodily structure.
“How do you know so much about geography?” I ask. I’m pressed up against him in a way that makes conversation awkward yet necessary.
“I was in the geography bee in high school. Made it to the state championships.”
“That’s impressive.”
“I guess it would’ve been, if that hadn’t been the year my brother won an international science and engineering competition.” He scratches his cheek. “Funny, I haven’t thought about that in years.”
“You should invite your brother here next year. Sounds like he might fit in.”
Charlie blows a drunken raspberry. “Michael is too busy being an uptight prick to enjoy robot dog races.”
“Well, congratulations on a well-deserved win. We wouldn’t have won without you.”
The driver drops us off in the parking lot. Charlie staggers toward the woods and I manage to redirect him toward the cabins instead.
“This was a fun night, Cricket. I’m glad you talked me into it.” He hesitates. “How’d you get the name Cricket anyway? Were you into insects as a kid? Or maybe a big fan of Jiminy Cricket?”
“No. I was so quiet, my family didn’t realize when I’d spoken. My dad would ask me a question and think I didn’t answer him.” I pause for effect. “Crickets.”
He shakes his head. “Does not compute.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dad must’ve had a hearing problem because I can hear you fine.” His arm makes a sweeping gesture, nearly catching me in the ribs in the process. “You’re confident. You’re whip-smart. And you’re the best kind of loud.”
“You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“Not about me. I mean that you’re definitely drunk.”
“I can be drunk and still be right about you .” He boops my nose. “Some people say I’m more honest when I drink. Loose inhibitions and all that.”
“Who are some people?”
“My brother and sister. They have categories for me when I’m drunk. I’m either Sleepy Charlie or Chatty Charlie.”
“Which one are you now?”
He rubs his head. “Kinda both.”
“Good thing we’re getting you to bed then. You can chat to Chucky until you fall asleep.”
“Or I could chat to you.” He sways toward me, walking with loose limbs like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of the Oz . “I like talking to you.”
I nudge him upright. “What do you like about it?”
“It’s easy-breezy. We have a connection.” He casts a sidelong glance at me. “Do I sound crazy?”
“You sound like you’ve had one too many beers.” I steer him toward the door of his cabin. “I agree with you, though. It’s been a fun night, Charlie Thorpe. Sleep it off and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Not if I see you first.” He salutes me and walks straight into the closed door of his cabin.
I hold in my laughter until I’m sure he’s unharmed, then I snort-laugh all the way to my cabin.