Chapter 2
Gage
He slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant.
~ Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
“Come on, ref! Are you blind?” I shout at the television.
Mitch jumps up, shouting over me. “Take it to the house, baby!” He slams a throw pillow onto the floor, pumping his fist. “Go! GO! GO!”
And then—“Noooo!”—as our wide receiver gets tackled and dogpiled.
Liam and Carson sit back, more sedate than usual, considering we’re heading into the playoffs soon.
“What’s wrong with you two?” I ask.
“Women,” Mitch says offhandedly, flopping back onto the sofa. “Never get into a long-term relationship. It kills your passion for the game.”
I look Liam in the eyes. “Is that true?”
“Maybe.” He smiles. “I still love the game. I’m just wondering what Noelle’s up to.”
“Told you,” Mitch says, grabbing a jalapeno popper and putting the whole thing in his mouth in one bite.
Carson chuckles. “You have nothing to worry about, Mitch. I think you’ll be single for a while.”
Mitch gives Carson a side-eye. “What do you mean? Was that an insult?”
“Nah. No. You’re perfect. Don’t ever change.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Mitch says. “That’s another thing about women.
They always want you to change. Why is that?
They meet you. Your apartment’s a bit of a mess.
You might have picked a shirt you already wore for a few hours that week.
Nothing gross. Just conserving laundry detergent.
You know? And in the beginning she’s all, ‘You’re so cute.
You make me laugh.’ All the heart-eye emojis on the text thread. ”
Mitch looks at each of us like he’s the invited speaker giving a TED Talk.
“Next thing you know, she’s complaining that you don’t clean up enough and asking things like, ‘Didn’t you wear that shirt the other night?
’” He shakes his head. “This is me. Take it or leave it. My house is sometimes a mess. I wear clothes twice if they don’t stink. I take my shirt off when I’m hot.”
“And even when you’re not,” Carson says with a smile.
To emphasize his point, Mitch raises his shirt hem and dabs at the corner of his mouth. Then he adds, “I’m always hot, gents.”
“Not all women try to change you,” Carson defends. “Alyssa loves me as I am.”
“She never complains about you?” Mitch asks, his brows raised.
“We’re normal,” Carson says, looking to Liam for confirmation. “She has her quirks. I have mine. Sometimes something I do rubs her the wrong way.”
“And that will be the thing,” Mitch says. “Trust me. Wait til you’re out of the honeymoon stage. She’ll be trying to reform you.”
“Maybe I could use some reforming,” Carson says.
“No! That’s … Man! Are you serious?” Mitch pleads with Carson. Then he looks at me. “Another one bites the dust.”
I’m quiet. The last thing I should be taking a stance on is women and their unrealistic expectations of men.
“That’s holding! What are you thinking?” Carson shouts at the TV.
I smile at Mitch. “Maybe all is not lost.”
“You’re smiling,” he remarks. The look on his face is way too astonished.
“What? I smile.”
I’m about to defend myself even more when the opposing team makes an interception and runs it to the five yard line. All conversation about women and my supposed lack of smiling falls away.
Our team loses the game. Liam clicks the remote and the television goes dark.
“Are you coming out?” Carson asks.
I glance at Mitch to see how he’ll answer.
“Not Mitch,” Carson says, looking me dead in the eyes. “I know he’s coming. You. Are you coming?”
“Nah. I think I’ll call it a night. I’ve got … work in the morning.”
“Flight school?”
“Courier stuff.”
“We’ve all got work in the morning, Gage,” Liam says. “Come out. It’s trivia night. We need you.”
“You only love me for my big brain,” I tease.
“It’s true,” Liam says with an easy smile.
And that’s how I end up sitting at a tall table, on a stool, surrounded by not only my friends, but their girlfriends and their girlfriends’ friends. We’re at Fork & Fiddle, a local restaurant that usually has live music, but lucky us, tonight it’s trivia.
Tori keeps looking at me with this strange expression on her face.
I almost ask her if I have an eyelash on my cheek, but I don’t want to give the wrong impression.
Not friendly. Not flirty. Just … surviving the night.
My current friend list is shorter than ever these days.
Basically, I’ve got room for three guys.
I may as well be my eight-year-old self with a scrawled sign outside my clubhouse door that reads, No Girls Allowed.
We form teams. “Let’s count off by fours!” Noelle says with way too much enthusiasm.
I have to give it to her, everyone listens, and before I know it, our friends are standing and moving around the table so they can sit near their new trivia partner. Tori approaches the barstool next to mine.
“Did you say you’re a four?” she asks quietly.
“I am.”
I try not to look into her eyes, but I can’t help myself.
She’s got this chronic smile on her face.
Not one that’s cheesy or fake. It’s just …
always there. And her eyes are soft. That’s the best way I can describe them.
I’ve got no business looking into a woman’s eyes, so I glance away while she hoists herself up onto the stool, her knees brushing the side of my thigh when she does.
Miles, the owner of Fork & Fiddle, speaks into the mic. “Okay, everyone, I hope you have your partner. Winning team gets a night out here at the restaurant with a free meal and a ride in the horse and carriage around the Christmas lights.”
“I hope we don’t win,” I mutter.
“You don’t have to take your half of the prize,” Tori says.
“My half of the prize? Are you so sure we’re going to win?”
“I’m here to win,” she says with an unexpected determination in her eyes.
Tori’s still smiling and something about the combination of her relentless joy and her fierce competitiveness makes me want to win—for her. I’m not going to take my half of the prize, she’s got that right. But we’ll win if I have anything to say about it.
Miles says, “To answer, raise your hand. Feel free to confer with your partner, but do so quietly. I can’t help it if someone eavesdrops and raises their hand first to give the answer you were about to give.”
Tori and I look into one another’s eyes. A silent understanding passes between us. No one’s going to hear a word of what we discuss.
Miles says, “Okay, everyone ready?”
The room answers with a chorus of “Yes!” and “Bring it!”
“Here we go. Holiday trivia.”
Holiday? Of all the things. Liam owes me. Big time.
“Question number one,” Miles says. “In Home Alone, where are the McCallisters going on vacation when they leave Kevin behind?”
Tori’s hand shoots up. She looks at me briefly and nods. She’s got this.
Miles points to her.
“Paris!” She shouts in this confident, excited tone of voice.
“Correct,” Miles says.
The hostess, Ginny, draws one hash mark on the whiteboard seating chart. Each team has a box representing where they’re seated, and ours is the only one with a point in it so far.
Tori whoops as if we’ve already won the whole competition.
Then she turns to me. “We should name our team.”
“Or not,” I say, sounding more grouchy than I intend to.
“Okay,” she says, deflated.
“Fine. We can name the team.”
“Really?” She’s giddy.
“Go ahead.”
“How about …”
“Gage and Tori?” I suggest.
She stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Cuddly cactus?” she suggests, giggling only a little and then swallowing the rest of her laughter when she meets my eyes.
“A line from The Grinch?” I ask.
“For fun,” she says, softly.
“Fine.”
Miles asks the next question about the song, Santa Baby. Another couple wins that one. The next four questions we get right. I even answer two about poinsettia being poisonous to animals and Coca-Cola being the company that made the red suit famous for Santa.
The rounds go on and it comes down to the last question. We’re tied with one other team in the room. Our friends are all watching us now. A look of bemusement fills Mitch’s face. I shake my head no. I’m just helping Tori win a free dinner. Nothing more.
Miles says, “Okay friends, it’s down to the last question. Only one team can win the prize. Here we go. What’s the name of the holiday celebrated by Seinfeld fans as an alternative to Christmas?”
Tori’s hand shoots up in the air. The other team’s hands both shoot up too. I know this. I hope she knows this.
“Tori?” Miles says. “Your hand went up first.”
“Festivus!” she shouts.
“You are … right!” Miles says with a big smile. “And your team wins!”
Tori jumps off her stool and launches into a happy dance the likes of which I’ve never seen. You’d think we’d won an all-expenses-paid trip on a cruise. Or ten thousand dollars.
She raises her hand to give me a high five.
I’m not about to leave her hanging. I lift my hand, pull it back, and my elbow connects with something solid. I turn to see the pitcher of soda, airborne, flipping through the air, an arc of brown carbonated liquid spraying out before it clatters to the ground.
People around us start laughing. I’m in shock for a minute and then I look at Tori. At first it’s only a flicker of a smile. But then her hand’s over her mouth and she’s busting out in laughter too. Hard.
When her eyes meet mine, I almost smile.
I catch myself just in time.
Smiling might send the wrong message.
So, I clamp my lips into a firm line and watch her laugh as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn’t.
Must be nice.