Page 33 of Playing Flirty

Sitting next to him, I unzipped my heels and curled my legs beneath me. Pulling my gaze away from his screen, I found everyone watching me.

Shaun placed a cup of tea in front of me, and Lincoln pushed the box of jalebi toward me. “Thanks,” I said, and despite my spidey sense tingling, I wasted no time shoving the sticky, crunchy, chewy treat into my mouth.

With my mouth full, I finally asked, “What’s going on?”

Shaun paled.

Neema and Claire smiled, but their eyes were wide open.

Lincoln removed his glasses and rubbed his temples, avoiding my gaze.

My anxiety heightened. “What is it?”

Shaun made a show of pulling out his whistle to start the game, but there was nothing set up.

“Ey, what are we playing?” I asked.

“You tell us.” Neema lifted a tote bag from behind the couch and dropped it on the table. Her concerned expression met mine. “Shaun told me about the competition. You should enter.”

My head snapped toward Shaun, who flinched.

“It’s my turn to pick a game, and this is what I want to play.” He unzipped the bag and lifted out a board more familiar to me than my own hands. I had spent hours painting it with my mother and repainting it on my own. “If you’ll let us.”

My breath hitched.

He pulled out the pieces, one at a time: the hat, the crown, the book, the sword, and the bow and arrow. Each time he reached inside the bag and pulled out another component, a piece of me went numb.

I lost my voice, my ability to move.

I was vaguely aware of Neema’s eager smile, of the guilt in Shaun’s expression, and Claire’s squeal of delight. Lincoln leaned forward and scrutinized the board while William said nothing, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the game in front of us.

They were waiting for me to say something, but I couldn’t think. All I could hear was theclick-click-click-clickof Patrick’s keyboard beside me.

My heart raced with each tap of his fingers, the short pants of my breath coming faster and faster. I was having a panic attack.

I was having a panic attack.

I was definitely having a panic attack.

“I pick this one,” William announced, louder than the blood pumping in my ears. He grabbed the hat marker and looked at me. His eyes were lighter than I’d ever seen them. He wanted to play.

But this wasn’t one of our silly little games. This wasmygame. And they knew nothing about it. What if they hated it?

“Come on,” William chirped at the rest of them.

Neema sprung into action. “I want the bow and arrow.”

Shaun grabbed the crown.

Lincoln took the sword and brought it close to his eyes.

Claire picked up the book between two fingers.

“Is it a five-player game?” Neema asked. “Can we add something for you? Otherwise, you can have my bow.”

I shook my head, kneeling before the board with limbs that had gone useless. “It’s a six-player game, but I’ve lost the heart game piece.”

I thought back to that day so many years ago. Gandalf had taken it, claiming he wanted original memorabilia of the greatest board game to ever exist.

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