Page 80 of Over the Edge

Quinn raises a brow. “Do you think he’ll have a fighting chance?”

“They don’t let him participate in local trivia, so I think so,” I say.

“What am I missing?” Garrett looks more amused than confused.

“It’s what we do to determine who does the dishes after a meal,” I say. “We pull up this website and whoever gets the least amount of capitals of countries right in under a minute has to do them.”

“Can’t we all just help out?” Garrett offers a logical, albeit boring solution.

“When Quinn and I lived together we had this tiny kitchen and only one person could actually fit in it,” I explain.

“It didn’t even have a full-sized fridge,” Quinn adds.

“And practically no cabinet space,” Oliver jumps in. “Remember that time you stored those plastic cutting boards in the oven and we forgot to take them out.”

Quinn’s face scrunches her nose. “Even thinking about it makes me get this phantom smell. God, burning plastic was theworst. And then we had to use those shitty lighters to melt the plastic off because we were all too broke to get new oven racks.”

“Like we could find ones that worked with that ancient oven,” I say. That apartment was one of my favorite places. It was cramped and we were always finding mold, but it was ours.

“So, are you in?” I ask Garrett.

“If you’ll let me,” he says.

I text Garrett the link to the website. It’s a bit jarring to take a look at our messages; there have only been a few. Most of our exchanges have been through calendar invites.

The website has a timer built in so we don’t have to synchronize our start times. There’s a few seconds between each of us finishing. As usual, Quinn wins with forty. It’s less that she likes being the best at things and more that she hates failing. Oliver gets thirty-five and I get thirty-three. Surprisingly, Garrett gets twenty-four. Accepting his fate, he grabs a stack of dishes and heads through the door to the kitchen. I wait a beat before collecting an armful of trays and serving utensils.

The dishes clatter as they jostle in my arms causing Garrett to look up from where he’s turning on the sink. “What are you doing in here?”

“Helping. There’s room for the two of us and they’re my friends. You don’t need to do this alone,” I tell him as I unload my armful onto the counter.

“I lost on purpose so you could spend time with them,” he says in that weighted way that forces me off balance. “You guys looked like you were having a good time.”

“Are you just saying that so I think you know more capitals?” I tease, instead of acknowledging the gesture. An aftershock of heat climbs to my cheeks as I also remember his hand on my leg. Then there was the kiss from three days ago, the way he asked how I wanted him to kiss me, tender then ravenous.

“I could start listing them if you need proof,” he offers.

“Feeling confident?”

“Minsk,” he says, then turns off the water.

“Easy.”

“Brussels.” He takes a step closer and my heart thunders.

“Basic,” I breathe.

“Helsinki.”

“Obvious.” I lean back against the counter and his body eats up the remaining space between us. His arms land on either side of my hips, caging me in. Bergamot and lavender wash over me.

“Port au Prince.”

“Passable,” I say. His eyes are on my lips. He’s not even hiding it. I want to reach up and pull him in. I want him to close the distance. “What else do you have for me?”

“I’m coming in to get water!” Quinn shouts a second before she strides in. Garrett doesn’t move an inch. It takes me a moment to remember that it’s good for Quinn to catch us like this, acting like a couple who’d casually occupy each other’s space.

“Thanks for the announcement,” I say, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.

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