16. Harvard Hermès Is Clearly Pissed #2
“You think you’re worth more?” He shrugs off Lucas’s hand and leans toward me.
“Depends on the terms.” My father’s voice in my head instructs me: Say less. Make them talk more.
Hermès gestures broadly, throwing his arms wide to indicate the expanse of games before us. “Love a good game of poker, I’m considered decent at pool and foosball, and I’m”—he shoots a quick, not at all sly glance at his teammates—“passable at darts.”
I’m tempted to pick poker considering Hermès seems incapable of bluffing. “Thousand dollars, whoever wins at a game I choose.”
“And your boyfriend here plays for you?”
“I’ll play for myself.”
Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see the way Lucas’s face twitches, as though I’ve rejected him. “I can wager too, right?”
I’m not sure Lucas has a thousand dollars to wager, unless he uses the prize money that hasn’t even landed yet, and which I know he already has plans for.
But since it’s against my kiss, theoretically the house wins both ways.
It’s a stupid thing to have agreed to, a mistake that compounds my own stupidity, but that’s a fight we’ll have to have later.
We haven’t even had a real date yet, and yet here we already are.
Lucas licks his lips, another tell. “How about darts?”
Lucas is going about this all wrong. Usually, you’d want to draw someone out, to better gauge what their strengths are. But Hermès, the human equivalent of a large intestine crammed into a fitted Gucci suit, is somehow pressing all of Lucas’s buttons.
I close my eyes.
And Lucas is letting him.
Hermès laughs, certain. “Sure. Ladies first?”
My smile is tight. “Lead the way.”
His eyes narrow, but he’s feeling too confident to get petty now. “501?”
It’s one of the most common iterations of darts: You start with a score of 501, and whatever points you land on are subtracted from there. Whichever player gets to zero first wins.
My heart sinks at the surprise on Lucas’s face. If he doesn’t know the basic rules, how will he compete? Hermès catches it as well. “Not too late to back down now. If the game’s too rich . . .”
Lucas gives a curt shake of his head. There are too many people watching now for him to back down.
Hermès goes first, his posture erect, a faint smirk twisting an otherwise perfectly unremarkable face. Lucas watches carefully, examining both his opponent and the board.
Hermès goes down to 381.
Decent.
A moment later, Lucas mirrors Hermès’s movements. Clearly, my boyfriend has played before, he’d merely been unfamiliar with the 501 variation.
Unluckily for both of the boys?
Darts is my second-best game. The bartenders and owner at Pizza Palace love seeing tourists and non-regulars lose to me. It’s become a side hustle: One of the regulars will taunt a newbie, goading them into playing the nerdy waitress who’s always studying during her breaks.
They always tell me I can keep all of the winnings.
I always buy their pizza.
It’s become a thing.
The only game I’m better at? Table tennis, because it’s the game my father loves most.
Given I regularly defraud grown men at the Pizza Palace? Neither Hermès nor Lucas stands a chance.
I start with a triple nineteen, and though I don’t get the perfect nine game, I’m not far off.
“WTF?”
It’s one of the MIT guys who says this, though he’s got a huge grin on his face—and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lost any money. He’s just enjoying the show and at least his fourth free drink.
“She didn’t drink anything.”
“Yeah, she’s the only sober one here.”
“And she was trying.”
The guys nod to one another sagely, as if having solved the mystery of how a girl could be good at darts.
“Yeah, my dudes,” Brody says, slinging a careless arm around me. “I’m sure you could have each thrown a nearly perfect game if only you’d tried or been sober.”
“Lorelai’s good at everything she sets her mind to.” The quiet pride in Lucas’s voice soothes me a little. Though I’m still angry about the penis-waving that got us into this.
I wonder how regularly Hermès does this—pass out free drinks, challenge someone to a game. It’s close between him and Lucas. But Lucas is the only sober guy here. And he gets a little lucky on the last throw.
Hermès is flushed as he reaches for his wallet. “Cute little one-two swindle you have going.”
“You challenged us,” Lucas states.
“I’m curious which one of you is better. I mean, I’ll pay up, but wouldn’t it be fun to figure out which one of you is actually the bitch?” He casually counts out ten one-hundred-dollar bills.
“It should be a thousand each.”
“You’re lucky I’m paying this much. And that I’m not reporting your little con.”
It’s Lucas’s turn to become belligerent. He’s always been the most honest of the three of us, the one who points out when a professor has tallied incorrectly (in your favor).
“We won fairly.”
Hermès’s look is pure disdain. He blatantly looks Lucas up and down. “I get that you need money, but I mean, find a job or something, yeah? Fucking entitlement programs and affirmative action admits are going to be the death of this country.”
Clearly by rote, one of his teammates high-fives him.
Lucas, however, goes a bit still. I watch as his fists clench at his sides.
“We should go.” I tug at Lucas’s arm, wait until he makes eye contact, until he lets out a breath and unfurls his hands.
Hermès smiles. “Looks like we know who’s the real boss, huh?”
“Lorelai is our captain,” Lucas says, his voice back to the deep, slow monotone.
I don’t let myself show my anger until we’re back on the T.
“I’m sorry—” Lucas starts, but I won’t hear it.
Seeing how tense we both are, Brody sits between us. “Is this the wrong time to ask about a well-timed commemorative selfie?”
Neither Lucas nor I laugh in a manner that’s genuine, but Brody adopts his challenge-accepted manner and monologues for the entirety of the ride back, displaying an impressive knowledge of local trivia (that it’s called the “T” because of a mayoral campaign opposing fare increases, popularized through a folk song called “M.T.A.” about a man named Charlie who couldn’t afford to come home), ICPC facts (Did Lucas and I know it used to be teams of four?
Imagine if we’d been paired with Arjun?), as well as an already previously ascertained ability to turn anything into a semi-crude joke (Doesn’t that [insert harmless inanimate object] look just like [body part] if you just tilt your head the right way?).
It’s not until we’re back in the hotel that Brody asks, “Are Mommy and Daddy going to fight in private now?”
He means well, but all I can manage is a weak, faded smile. “You should go to your room.”
“Don’t let the other teams hear you say that, or the mommy jokes will never die.”
In the elevator, Brody gets off on the second floor and turns toward us. “Never been in a relationship long enough to test it out, but I hear makeup sex is awesome.”
Lucas’s neck begins to turn red again, leaving it up to me to joke, “You really want to picture Mommy and Daddy banging one out?”
Brody barks out a laugh. “That’s wrong on too many levels to articulate.”
“Good night, Brody.”
“Good night, Mommy and Daddy.”
By tacit agreement, Lucas and I don’t talk until we get to my room.
It’s so standard that ICPC teams are made out of three dudes that we had to get special permission to get an extra hotel room for me.
Rice University was the only school to field a team of three girls, an event so rare they made several special announcements about the fact.
Since we’ve been practicing in the boys’ room, this is the first time Lucas has come over.
“I shouldn’t have accepted the bet.” Lucas’s voice is solemn, contrite. He looks down at his worn boots. “I’m sorry.”
“I know Arjun tried to get me replaced. Once he saw he couldn’t convince you or Brody, he went to Professor Miller directly. I also know that when Professor Miller asked you for your opinion, you said you’d only compete if I was on the team.”
Lucas bites one corner of his lip. His tells are truly endless. When I’m less annoyed, I’ll have to sit him down, try to break at least a couple of them. Convince him to stay away from all casinos. “Who told you?”
“Who didn’t? Caltech’s got less than a thousand undergraduates. This was the tea of the week.”
Lucas is turning red, likely wondering just how many of the details I heard. That Professor Miller had been incredulous. That Lucas had been intransigent.