6. Savvy
IT’S BEEN a week since Darwin showed up at Galactic Guild.
When he said he’d help, I assumed it would be a show up to pitch in every now and again kind of thing. It was pretty obvious he was in an awful place when I turned up at his house, and even if I’m determined not to feel bad for him (or feel anything at all for Darwin Wilder), something inside me pinches whenever I remember his poor hands.
As far as I know, Dad was the only non-professional connection he had in his life. They were friends for longer than I’ve been alive. Stress and grief were bound to affect his mental health, and the fact he was so isolated… Well. He was obviously here to get himself in order, a little exposure therapy to the outside world, while biding his time before the next great idea sent him back into his writing hole.
I could deal with that.
What I can’t deal with is keeping my shit together for hours on end every day.
Look, it’s not like I’m a complete basket case. I have some sense of self-awareness and control. But, if you’re around anyone long enough, you’re going to see them make a mistake. They’ll do something monumentally stupid, or klutzy, or forgetful. It’s normal to have those moments, like, Oops! I forgot my doctors appointment! or, Darn, I knocked over my glass of wine.
Unfortunately, in my case, that time is bound to come sooner rather than later. Also, given twenty-seven years of experience in living with myself, I know those mistakes won’t be so cute. We’re looking at something a lot closer to, Whoops! Stabbed myself in the foot! or, Gosh darn it, I mixedcleaning supplies and created a chemical weapon! Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Normally, I don’t care. Really. I’ve made my peace with being an idiot. Unfortunately, I’m a proud idiot. A proud idiot who is now spending hours alone with the one person whom I don’t want privy to that deeply unfortunate quality, because Darwin keeps showing up.
It’s not a phase. It’s not even exposure therapy, because he stopped wearing his gloves days ago. His hands look better, still painful even to look at, but the redness has gone down and I’ve only seen him wash them a few times since he started coming here. He’s been focusing on repairing the broken machines in the arcade, which is fine by me, because I certainly don’t have the patience for it.
I really didn’t expect it to last, but night after night, we work side by side, mostly in silence. There are times he makes an offhand comment, or I do, and it sparks a bit of perfectly civil conversation.
And, sometimes, that perfectly civil conversation turns into us actually talking.
There’s so much about Darwin that I’d forgotten, little habits or the way he can make me laugh with his dry, humorless comments. While no one could accuse Darwin Wilder of being charming, I can hardly blame my younger self for falling for him, even if there was—is—a million reasons not to. Like it or not, we understand each other, and it’s been an effort not to fall back into the rhythm of the easy, familiar friendship we once had.
None of that means I can allow myself to forget the reason for our nine-year estrangement. I want this man to see me as an adult, a peer, and not the same impulsive girl he sent running from his home that rainy night nine years ago.
Regrettably for me, impulsive may as well be my middle name. I’ve tried to change, tried to curb my behavior. All goes well until I get this great idea, which turns out to be not such a great idea, and my life is fucked up once again.
It’s why I can’t keep a relationship for longer than six months.
It’s why I signed up for my current job on an app that takes anyone with a valid driver’s license.
It’s why I’m currently scrambling to hide a giant game-show wheel before Darwin gets to Galactic Guild.
“Oh god.”I stare up at the thing—which is at least two feet taller than I am—my throat tight with panic.
What was I thinking?
Sure, it was only fifty dollars on Craigslist and seemed like a good deal. But this is exactly the kind of nonsense I’m trying to avoid. There are a million things to do around here, and responsible, logical adults focus on those first.
They do not drive forty-five minutes to buy a game-show wheel from some guy named Jerry, strap it to the roof of their sedan, drive back going twenty miles below the speed limit, and enlist a group of karate students to help them get it inside.
I had so many opportunities to abort this mission. So many chances to sit back, look at what I was doing, and consider maybe it wasn’t the best use of my time.
Thankfully, the wheel is on wheels.
Looking around wildly, my eyes catch on the large double doors to the arena, and my heart leaps. I don’t think Darwin has ventured in there at all. Perfect.
Hey, maybe I can say I found it and blame it on Stone. That’s not horrible, is it? Blaming your poor decisions on your dead dad so his best friend, whom you once threw yourself at and he brutally rejected you, doesn’t find out he was right about what a mess you are.
Right now, I don’t give a flying fart about the moral integrity of this plan. I just need to make sure Darwin never finds out I spent the better part of my morning finding, buying, and transporting a seven-foot-tall game-show wheel.
Gripping the side, I lean into it and push, shoving the thing over the mostly torn-up carpet in the direction of the only possible hiding spot. The wheel sways, and I wrap my arms around it the best I can to steady it.
Trying again, I proceed slower, craning my neck around the side to foresee any potential hazards in my way. It’s working too. I’m rocking this. There’s ten feet to go, then five, then two, but when I dart around the front to ease it through the doorway, my mouth falls open in horror, because the stupid wheel is about six inches taller than the doorframe.
No. No. No.
This isn’t really happening right now, is it? Six inches will make the difference between me maintaining some shred of dignity or not? I’m so furious, I’m not even going to make a penis joke to myself. Though, of course, thinking about making a penis joke is just as bad as making one, so—no. Not now.
I bite my lip, staring up at the wheel as thoughts ping-pong around in my skull, searching for solutions to the problem at hand. Maybe if I could just tilt it onto the back wheels and push it through?
It’s the only option. I have to.
My heart is lodged in my throat as I reach up to grab the top and begin easing it back toward myself. It’s heavy, but not so heavy that I cant hold it up. I’ve got this. Everything is fine. If I could just—oh, fuck.
Somehow in the formation of this plan, I neglected to consider one very important fact: that wheels spin.
It happens so fast that I don’t have time to scramble out of the way. One second, I’m trying to ease the tilted wheel through the doors, and the next, the wheels have slipped out from under it, and I’m falling. My back hits the floor so hard it pushes the air from my lungs. Or, maybe it wasn’t so much the fall as it was the massive, wooden wheel landing on top of me.
Disoriented and wheezing, I blink up at the ceiling, struggling to catch up with this turn of events. Only my head and shoulders are poking out from beneath the thing, but before I can even think of wiggling out, there’s a sharp cry from the direction of the front door.
“Savvy!”
My head thuds back onto the carpet, a resigned sort of mortification settling over me as Darwin’s feet and calves come into view. Then, the weight is gone from my chest as my tall, well-built business partner lifts the wheel into an upright position with no struggle whatsoever.
“Are you okay?” he demands, dropping to his knees beside me. Darwin looks, well, frantic. His hands move to my arms, then my head, checking for injuries.
He doesn’t even seem to realize, or care, that his bare skin is touching mine.
I lurch away, scrambling to my feet. “Totally fine,” I squeak, backing away. “It just happened a second before you came in.”
This is humiliating enough without him thinking I laid there for hours, trapped like a turtle on its back.
Darwin gets to his feet, still looking unconvinced. “I think we should get you to the emergency room, just to be sure.”
My mouth pops open in horror. “Oh my god, no! Dar, seriously, look.” I wave my limbs around theatrically and hop up and down a bit. “I’m fine. Nothing hurts.”
Except the back of my head, but I’m not telling him that.
Worried, dark eyes scan my body, searching for signs of distress, and— because there is something deeply wrong with me—my skin tingles under the weight of his gaze. Dar’s throat bobs when he finally finishes assuring himself that I’m not dying. “Are you sure?”
I flash him a reassuring smile. “Totally.”
“You’ll tell me? If anything starts to hurt?”
No way. “Of course.”
Silence falls between us, and, as if he’s just noticing it for the first time, Darwin’s eyes turn to the massive wheel beside me. He blinks, staring at it. “Is that?—”
“A game-show wheel?” I suggest, blood rushing to my face. “Yeah.” More silence.
“Ah.” Darwin rubs his beard, likely trying to find a way to diplomatically call me a basket case. “What are we going to do with it?”
My face must be tomato red right now with how hot it is. “It was a bad idea. I’m going to list it online and see if I can find a buyer.”
To my surprise, he frowns. “You must have had a plan when you bought it. Tell me.” It’s not an order, but there’s something in his voice… He really wants to know.
I swallow, reaching over to scratch my nail over the wooden edge distractedly. “So, have you ever heard of speed dating?” The completely blank expression in response to this question confirms I was right not to assume. “Well, it’s this event that’s usually hosted at a restaurant or bar or something. Single people sign up, and you take turns talking to everyone for a few minutes. If you click with someone, great, and if not, you didn’t have to go on a dozen bad dates to find out.”
“People pay to go to events like this?” he presses, looking disbelieving.
Now, I’m blushing for a whole other reason. “Yes. People want to be loved, to be in relationships. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Darwin seems to struggle to accept that statement. “Okay. So, how did we get from speed dating to the giant wheel?”
Despite myself, a hysterical little giggle escapes from between my lips. “Well, I thought we could do that here. Host events a few nights a month. Adults only, obviously. Except they wouldn’t be sitting awkwardly across from a stranger, they’d be engaging in an epic battle for intergalactic domination, aided by a teammate who happens to be single and wants a relationship just like they do. It would take all night to play with everyone, though. So, I thought it would be fun to put the names of the first half of participants on the wheel and have the second half spin to find out who they’re playing with. It’s flashy, you know? People would post about it on social media, so that’s free advertising for us.”
I force myself not to squirm or look away from him. It is a pretty good idea, maybe a little hastily thought out, but still. It’s not like I bought a seven-foot-tall wheel for no reason. Dar is just staring at me, though, and the longer he does, the more defensive I become. The next thing out of his mouth is going to be disapproving or patronizing. I just know it is.
“That’s an amazing idea, Savvy.” My pulse thuds in my ears. “What?”
“It’s great.” Darwin crosses his arms and moves so he can see the front of the wheel. “How much would we charge for something like that?”
“Oh.” I sway, taken off guard by his approval and totally unwilling to admit it makes me happy. “I was thinking forty dollars a person to cover two games, and maybe some snacks after? We can’t serve alcohol without a liquor license, but people could bring their own. We’d keep the arcade open so they can play games after too. Like a mini impromptu date.” I shrug, watching as Darwin pulls the wheel, his eyes following the blur of spinning colors.
He looks over at me, his handsome face splitting into a genuine smile. “It’s great, Savvy. The perfect way to get people in the door on nights when we ordinarily wouldn’t see much business. I can’t believe you came up with that and found the wheel and everything. How did you get it here?”
I don’t want to smile, really I don’t, but my mouth seems to do it against my will. “On the roof of my car.”
Darwin snorts, shaking his head like he can picture the absurdity and isn’t put off at all. “Call me next time. Okay? At the very least, I can be back-up muscle.” The sleeves of his T-shirt, which are stretched taut around his biceps, support that statement.
It’s almost painful to drag my eyes away.
“Okay,” I hear myself agree. “I’ll call you next time.”
We go our separate ways. Darwin heads toward the arcade games he was repairing, and I make a beeline for the one working bathroom. I finished cleaning it last night, but the room is still giving strong truck-stop vibes. It’s going to need a fresh coat of paint, and maybe new flooring, before it’s presentable for the public.
It’s saying a lot that the moment the door closes behind me, I feel like I can breathe again. Bracing my hands on the chipped porcelain sink, I glare at my reflection in the mirror.
“You don’t like him,” I hiss, as if Darwin is going to be standing with his ear pressed to the door. “You don’t think he’s cute, or like it when he compliments you, or want anything to do with him outside this building.”
The Savvy in the mirror doesn’t seem to be convinced.