Chapter 12
Twelve
OCTOBER 8 YEARS AGO
E veryone in the bar lets out an audible, collective groan when the answer for the next question is read—everyone but me. I try to hold back my squeal of delight that we got it right and should be moving up the leaderboard. It’s been one of those trivia nights where your eyebrows pull together and your eyes narrow after every question is read, and you question if anyone knows this information at all. But even though I let out a laugh of disbelief after almost every question, Warren has been wearing a sly smile most of the night.
“How are you guys so good at this?” Ali asks when we get another hard question right and move into a tie for first place.
“His brain has so many random facts in it, I don’t know how it doesn’t explode.” I point to Warren and glance back at him with a smile. I lean over to kiss his cheek when he smiles back.
That’s my brilliant, handsome man.
At the end of the three main rounds, Warren and I are tied for first place. We had to get that last question right while the other team got it wrong to push the game to a tie, and I thought we were screwed when they read out the question. I mean, who the hell knows what the name of the commission established to investigate the JFK assassination was?
But Warren’s eyes lit up and he submitted our answer immediately—no hesitation—as I gawked.
“How did you know that one? You hate history,” I’d asked, but he just smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
I didn’t understand what that meant until the answer was read and it was “The Warren Commission.” I just laughed and shook my head as it was announced we were the only ones to get it right.
They don’t let the games end in a tie here, especially when the scores are high.
This was the first time we were involved in a tie. They didn’t happen often, but we at least understood how it’d go down. It was up to fate now.
“Well, well, well!” the game host says over the mic, trying to get the crowd excited. He’s a shorter man who’s trying to hide the fact that he’s balding by combing his hair over, but it only makes it more obvious. He looks like he tried to dress in what he thought was “hip,” but it just looks haphazard. We’ve been here enough for trivia that he knows our group. We try to be kind to him, but it’s hard not to laugh when he gets way too into this volunteer trivia hosting job. “It seems we’re going to have to pull out one of the extreme tie-breaker questions.”
He holds out the last word and wiggles his fingers at the crowd, which comes across more spooky than exciting, and everyone looks around.
He quickly stops and clears his throat. “Whoever gets it right will not only win tonight’s trivia competition and get a free round of drinks, but based on the current scores, they’ll also land themselves the number one spot on the leaderboard.”
Now that causes some chatter, and many heads—including our own—look over at the chalkboard of leaders. The number one spot hasn’t changed since we started coming here. I don’t even know how long it’s been there. Every time we’ve played in these trivia nights, we’ve said we’re going to end up on that board, but tonight is the first time we truly have a chance. Warren and I grin at each other like little kids who were just told they’re going to Disney.
“Will our top two teams please make their way down here? Give it up for The Summers and The Chumpions .” The crowd claps as we walk up. Sterling and Ali cheer too loud and I turn to glare at them, but the smile won’t leave my face.
We shake hands with our opponents, who are a pair of middle-aged men who look like their job could be watching the Animal Planet channel all day. They smile at us, but I see the look they give each other—they think they’ve got this in the bag. I press my lips together and narrow my eyes at them, hoping I’m making what Warren calls my “scary face.” Their faces pale slightly when they look at me, and I smile back with a look full of venom.
Warren chuckles softly behind me and rests a hand on my lower back. I pull my eyes off the competition and fight a sigh when they land on him. I’m so in love with him, it’s scary. Literally. I’m so in love with him I’m scared to tell him because the force behind the words might be too overwhelming, especially since he hasn’t said them yet either.
“Are you ready for the final question?” the host asks, and I force my eyes off him. Only once we all nod does he continue. “In what scenario can it be advantageous to form a parent company under Tax Law number seven hundred and nine? A) Litigation, B) Conflict of Interest, C) Bankruptcy, or D) Acquisition.”
Each team whispers amongst themselves. Warren and I immediately rule out A and C, thinking that they don’t really make sense even though we can’t explain why. These questions are called “extreme” for a reason—they’re meant to be about extremely obscure things very few would know about. We go back and forth on the last two options, but eventually Warren gives in and agrees to go with my choice.
Both teams stand up straight and look at each other, meaning we’re ready.
“All right, both teams will say their answers on the count of three,” the host says, then turns to address the crowd. “If both are right, we’ll keep going through questions until one team gets one wrong. But if both are wrong, we’ll do a redo with the remaining answer choices.” He looks between us then starts counting. “One, two, three.”
“D) Acquisition,” the Chumpions say, as we answer, “B) Conflict of Interest.”
It goes completely silent. The crowd holds their breath, looking between us in anticipation as the announcer makes a long scene of checking his card and looking between the two teams. “It looks like we have a winner.” Warren’s hand moves to lace with mine and squeezes. We’ll either win or lose because of the argument I made for choice B. I swallow—hopefully it was the correct argument. “The team that has won tonight’s game, and will claim the top score of all time is . . . The Summers! ”
I squeal and turn to throw my arms around Warren’s neck. His arms wrap around me immediately and he lifts me off the ground.
“How do you feel?” The microphone gets shoved between us before I can kiss him, and he recovers faster than I do.
A sinful smile plays at his lips, and he winks as he answers, “Brighter than the sun.”
I smile at the answer that’s just for me. My sun.
“The sun?” the host asks. “Like your team name The Summers ?”
Warren nods, eyes locked on me.
“Would you like to tell us why you chose that name?”
A smile pulls at my lips, and he nods towards me, letting me answer the question. “Well, my last name is Summers, and . . . well, look at him.” I gesture to Warren with a grin on my face. “He’s golden, and glows like the sun. I’ve always joked that if we got married, he’d have to take my last name. So, we’re The Summers .”
“Aww,” the host starts and eggs on the crowd to join.
Warren leans down to kiss me, light and sweet and warm as a collection of aw’s fill the room.
“So, marriage is in your future then?”
I cough out a laugh and turn beet red.
We haven’t even said “I love you” yet. We’re taking it slow and doing this right, even though I have to bite my tongue every time I’m around him so the words don’t accidentally slip out.
“We only started dating recently,” I answer first, because the look on Warren’s face has me scared—but also excited—about what he was going to say. “We have a lot of time before we have to worry about that.”
The microphone starts to pull back, but Warren stops it. “But living in summer for the rest of my life doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”
I lightly hit him in the stomach as a blush stains my cheeks. “You getting all sappy on me now, Mitchell?”
“I guess the summer heat thawed this cold heart,” he teases with a smirk, and I laugh.
“Oh, shut up.” I smack his stomach again, harder this time. “You’re just playing it up for the crowd now.”
The host pulls back and looks between us, smiling. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say, I hope you do become The Summers one day.”
At the end of the night, someone brings the leader board over to us and lets us write our team name in the top spot. In my best, sunny handwriting, I write the words and add a little sun next to it. I’m about to hand the chalk back over but Warren extends his hand. I raise an eyebrow at him but drop the chalk in his hand. He smiles at me, then leans over and adds a heart at the end.
My heart stutters. Does that mean he feels the same way I do? Does that mean he loves me too?
I look up at him and get lost in those beautiful eyes.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Before I even realize that we’re both leaning closer, his lips gently press against mine, and I swear it’s love I feel threaded in the tenderness there.
I love you. I lo ? —
“All finished?” the bartender who brought over the board asks, not-so-patiently waiting for us to give it back.
Warren hands it back without saying a word. I think I hear Sterling apologize on our behalf, but all I can hear ringing through my head are the words:
I love you. I love you. I love you.