Page 3 of The Problem with Players

My hunch had been hunched.

First date?

We weren’t just going to skip past that comment.

Or perhaps we were because Wesley shot up from his seatand clapped his hands together. “Titanic!” he shouted, doing wild karate chops in the air as he exploded with excitement.

This. Dickhead.

I stayed planted on the couch in an indescribable state of shock.

“Yes!” Drew replied, rushing over tomyfiancé and wrapping him in a big embrace. He hugged her back tightly as if that was the right thing to do. My blood began to boil like no other as I sat there like an idiot, taking in the romantic scene unfolding before me.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck?

I stared at the two as if they had grown three heads. I was stuck in a state of complete disbelief. They might as well take off their clothes and start going at it on the living room rug, for all I cared. The amount of disrespect happening right in front of me was mind-blowing.

When they finally let one another go, I said, “It doesn’t count.”

Everyone looked at me, confused.

Drew narrowed her eyes. “What doesn’t count?”

“Your point for the game. It doesn’t count. You’re not allowed to use words during charades.”

Wesley laughed and sat down beside me. He raked his hand through his reddish-brown hair and shrugged. “I think we can make up the rules as we go.”

Did he just somehow become less attractive to me?

I swear, earlier that day, I found him much more handsome.

Now, the sound of his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Oh my gosh, I was engaged to an ugly man!

“Why would we make up the rules as we go? There arealready rules to the game,” I remarked. “The whole point of charades is not to speak. That’s the literal definition of charades.”

“Charades can also mean an absurd pretense intended to create a pleasant appearance,” Drew urged with laughter. I was glad she was still having a bang-up time.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what this game is. So you don’t get a point.” I crossed my arms as the whole energy of the room shifted. Instantly, I felt like a jerk because I was the one who caused it. Me and some newly unlocked insecurities that I didn’t know how to deal with. I didn’t even know I could get insecure! Over aman?! How deeply disappointed I was in myself. What was happening to me?

“It’s not that serious, darling,” Wesley said, leaning over to me. The way he said darling came off as condescending to me. Or maybe I was simply overthinking every syllable that fell from his ugly tongue. He kissed my cheek lightly. “I think we just need some more champagne.”

I glanced over at the kitchen counter, where Patrick stood, holding the empty bottles. “Sadly, we are all out of champagne,” he mentioned.

I hopped up from the couch. “I’ll run down to the corner store and get some more. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Lance started.

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. You all continue the game of talking charades. I’ll be back before you know it.” I didn’t look back toward Wesley because I was almost certain his eyes would be packed with confusion by my oddities. But also, screw him.

Because why was his best friend someone that he used to date? Not only did they date, but they reenacted scenes fromTitanic. That was love!

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