Chapter 7
7
“ W e have to finish a pint—just one between the two of us—before the game is over,” I say, reviewing the laminated rule sheet. “And the cups are only filled with water. No drinking out of the cups.”
“Easy enough.” Rachel glances up at me, smiling. She barely reaches my shoulder, the perfect height difference. My nerves have calmed a bit, and I’m starting to relax more.
“How long have your friends been dating those guys?” I ask, nodding toward the high-boy table where her friends are sitting with their boyfriends.
“Both are pretty new. Nicholas and Emily made it official about two months ago, and Sarah and Aaron have been together for about a month.”
“Is your ex named Patrick or something?” I’m still curious about the way her friends reacted earlier.
She laughs, shaking her head. “No.”
“Then why did they giggle so much when I introduced myself?” I hope it wasn’t my awkward handshake.
She smiles, her eyes teasing. “Tell you what—if we win this game, I’ll tell you.”
“I thought we were aiming for last-place champs?”
“Maybe I changed my mind.” Rachel shrugs mischievously.
Well, now I’m motivated.
“Hey,” I say, changing the subject. “I saw you wearing earbuds yesterday. I could never—how are they comfortable for you?”
“They just are?”
“I’m a big headphones guy.”
“Fits with your hot, nerdy vibe.”
She thinks I’m hot?! I blink, thrown off.
“So, are you a New Balance or Nike kind of guy?” she asks, checking me out with a playful look.
She’s flirting with me?! There is no need to overanalyze this. I was telling myself she was being nice before, but this is blatant flirting. “What do you think?” I flirt back.
“New Balance seems obvious, but maybe you’re a sneakerhead.” She gives me a quick once-over, looking down at my shoes. “Or maybe you don’t wear mainstream brands.”
“I own, like, five pairs of shoes. I’m trying to be a minimalist.”
“Well, I own about a hundred pairs, so I’m not sure this will work.”
I take a sip of the beer to gather myself, unable to say what I’m thinking, which is that it wouldn’t be a deal breaker. I’m so flustered.
“I saw you wearing glasses yesterday. How blind are you?” She’s clearly enjoying this game of back and forth or enjoying how fucking nervous she’s making me.
“I don’t know what the definition of legally blind is, but I have to be close.”
“Same. I couldn’t function without contacts or glasses.”
“I promise my eyes are worse.”
“Well, one of us should always carry glasses then,” she jokes. “For safety.”
“For safety.” Even though I might have a heart attack, I like this rhythm between us.
“You’re really bad,” she says as I miss again.
Our opponents are pros, and they’re demolishing us. The balls keep sinking into our cups with painful precision.
“I wasn’t much of a party guy in college. More of a gamer, hacker kinda guy.”
“Hacking?”
“Yeah.” I don’t want to bore her, but she looks interested. “I hacked into the company I work for now. Caused enough of an inconvenience that they hired me.”
“Badass!”
She thinks that’s cool? That makes me feel more confident.
Meanwhile, our opponents—a couple of early-twenties guys—are getting smug, landing another ball with ease. Rachel’s face scrunches up in frustration.
“It’s kind of a common story for hackers,” I continue, trying to keep the conversation going. “Unless they’re ‘black hat,’ which means they’re motivated by chaos or money.”
“Black hat?”
“Yeah, there are three types: black, gray, and white. White hats are the good guys. Black hats are the bad ones. Gray hats … well, we’re somewhere in between.”
“ We’re ,” she repeats, narrowing her eyes at me playfully. “I like morally gray guys.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She giggles, and I squint at her, not fully understanding the joke, but I’m loving the banter.
The other team rolls the ping pong balls back to us. Rachel grabs both and hands one to me. Without thinking, I take her hand in mine and kiss it. “For good luck,” I say, surprised with myself by the bold gesture.
Her face lights up. “I don’t want to lose to these guys,” she whispers, her expression suddenly serious as she concentrates on the game. She tosses the ball, and it lands perfectly in the cup.
“Yeah!” I shout, high-fiving her.
Now it’s my turn. The pressure is on, and I know I need to make this. Taking a deep breath, I aim and toss the ball.
“You made one!”
“All luck, no skill.” I wink.
“You’ve got one more shot to prove luck is on your side.”
The guys roll the balls back to us, and Rachel scoops them up.
“If we both make it again, we could be back in this.” She extends her hand to me. “Kiss it—for good luck.”
I smirk, covering her hand with mine and kissing her knuckle. We hold a flirty stare until I break away and take a sip of the beer, which we haven’t even touched yet.
“You got this,” I say, chuckling at how focused she is on the game now.
Rachel takes a deep breath, holding the ball at shoulder level. With a flick of her wrist, it lands in a cup again.
“You’re on fire!” She’s jumping in excitement, being too cute.
Now the pressure is really on. I have to make this. Please, go into the cup, I internally tell the ball as I toss it.
“You’re heating up!” she cheers when it goes in, and without warning, she playfully smacks my ass. I turn to look at her in surprise, and she does this shrug-shimmy thing that makes me smile.
“Double bring-backs!” one of the guys shouts, impressed by our comeback.
Rachel smiles, putting the balls back in her hand. “For good luck?” she asks, teasingly extending them toward me.
Wrapping my hand around hers, I guess we’re leaning into superstition, and I kiss the same knuckle again. “For good luck.”
The tension between us is thick. There’s a new competitiveness and something more. Rachel flicks her wrist, and we both watch in slow motion as the ball hits the cup—then bounces off the rim.
She groans, her face deflating in the most adorable way. I pull her into a side hug, trying to cheer her up. “Two in a row was impressive,” I say, my arm still around her shoulders.
“Give me the beer. I’m mad.”
I laugh, handing her the glass. I love how into the game she’s getting. It’s hot.
“If I make the next one …” I pause, gauging if I should say what I’m thinking. I take a sip of the beer, deciding if I’m really going to say this. The vibes are definitely there … “ If I make it … I get to smack your ass.”
She devilishly laughs, extending her hand to take the beer from me. After a long sip, she looks up at me. “If you make this, I’ll kiss you.”
Whoa. Her words hang between us, and I’ve never been more motivated in my life. I look into her eyes, then down at her lips, and back up again.
I take a deep breath to focus. I have to make this.