Games People Play
Delaney
In the penthouse, Maddox grew suddenly still, as if he'd heard something odd in the distance.
I glanced toward the windows, wondering what I'd missed. When I looked back to Maddox, he was frowning.
I asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said. "It's a fair question, all things considered."
The question about games? Apparently, I'd touched a nerve. I didn't understand, but hey, we all had our history. "So it's a sore subject?"
"No. It's a fair subject, like I said."
"Then why are you frowning?" I tried to laugh. "Don't tell me you have Monopoly trauma, too?"
For a moment, he just looked at me. And then he asked, "Too?"
"Sure. Everyone has Monopoly trauma." I shrugged. "Friendships end. Tables get flipped. Tiny plastic hotels become weapons..."
He blinked. "Hang on. What?"
Did he really not know? I pointed past his shoulder. "The cabinet behind you. It's got, like, two dozen games."
When he turned toward the cabinet, I gave it another look. The cabinet was big and ornate, made from carved wood and frosted glass. And even though the glass was opaque, I could see plenty of familiar board games, including the most evil game of all.
Monopoly.
Growing up, I'd played that game plenty of times – not only with Tessa or my friends, but with my parents, too.
This was before Mom's money had run out – when the idea of going broke was a source of entertainment and not constant worry. The last time we'd all played as a family, Mom had gone spectacularly bankrupt way too soon, losing all her hotels, properties, and three railroads in the process.
She had actually laughed. Back then, she'd been a better sport about so many things. Games. Taxes. Traffic. Anything, really.
Then again, losing fake money wouldn't hit half as hard.
As for myself, I'd had no concept of real money until it was nearly gone. But I'd learned soon enough as Mom became bitter and Dad became withdrawn.
With a soft chuckle, Maddox said, "So, hotels as weapons, huh?"
The question yanked me back to the present. "Tiny weapons," I clarified. "I mean…it's not like you can throw a real hotel."
He looked surprisingly intrigued. "So, who was the thrower? You?"
"Yes, actually. But in my defense, I was only six."
"Six, huh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "That's awful young to be a hotel magnate."
"No kidding," I said. "The recommended ages are eight and up."
Sounding almost impressed, he asked, "And you know this, how?"
"I checked the rules." And then, at his confused expression, I explained, "Because my mom kept teasing me about my tantrum.
" Actually, she'd done more than tease. Even now, whenever that game came up, she made a point to mention what a terrible sport I'd been, which really sucked, because that was the only time I'd ever pitched such a fit.
Eager to move on, I asked, "But how about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I won't ask if you play, because you obviously do." I laughed. "I mean, you wouldn't have the games otherwise. But it does make me curious."
And now, he looked almost uncomfortable. "About what?"
I wasn't quite sure how to put this. "I just mean…you don't seem the board game type."
"There's a type?"
It was a valid question. The members of my own family were wildly different. Mom was stylish. Dad was bookish. Tessa was perfect. And I was…well, nothing like any of them. But we all enjoyed games.
Before I could come up with a decent reply, Maddox asked, "So, what type am I?"
I gave him a long, careful look, taking in his expensive watch, tailored slacks, and crisp button-down shirt. "Maybe…the type to buy property you can't throw?"
His mouth twitched. "So real property."
"Right…with actual money."
"So not the fake stuff?"
"Exactly."
He gave a slow nod. "Interesting."
"Is it?"
Instead of answering, Maddox turned and nodded toward the cabinet. "Go ahead."
I wasn't following. "And do what?"
"Pick one. We'll play it."
My pulse quickened. "Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. Unless you don't want to."
"I do, actually." Honestly, it sounded like a blast. Plus, I knew from experience that you could learn a lot about somebody by watching how they played a game – especially if they lost. I glanced toward the cabinet. "So…which one's your favorite?"
He didn't even look. "None of them."
"Oh, come on," I laughed. "That's no kind of answer."
"That doesn't mean it's not true."
I narrowed my eyes. "You do realize it would be easy for me to find out."
"Oh, yeah? How?"
I gave the cabinet another glance. "I could pull them all out and see which one looks the most worn."
He gave a slow nod. "Devious."
I grinned. "I know, right?"
He flicked his chin toward the cabinet. "Go ahead. But that's not gonna tell you anything."
"But why not?"
"Just because they've been played, that doesn't mean I've played them."
Yeah, right.
As if a guy like Maddox would buy pre-owned games. I gave him my smirkiest smirk. "You're just trying to throw me off."
"Am I?"
"Totally." And then, to prove it, I did exactly what I'd been threatening. I marched to the cabinet and began pulling out the games.
Most of them looked brand new. I'd stacked half on the coffee table as I rooted through the others. I didn't open any boxes. Technically, I shouldn't need to.
From experience, I knew that a battered box was a sure sign the game had been played over and over.
Maddox was sprawled out on the couch, watching with obvious amusement as I played board-game detective. In the end, I had three prime suspects – Scrabble, Risk, and Monopoly. Their boxes didn't look terribly worn, but they weren't fresh from the plastic wrap either.
I returned the other games to the cabinet and lined up my three suspects on the coffee table in front of Maddox.
I studied his face as I gave each of them a little poke.
In return, I got nothing. No smile. No frown. No sign at all that he had a favorite.
I laughed. "Alright, I know what your favorite game is."
"You do?"
"Yes." I smiled. "It's poker, because I have no idea what you're thinking."