Page 56 of When You Had Me Adapting

“Yes,” both girls say in unison, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Chris, I’m no Taylor Swift fan, but I imagine the girls know what they’re talking about. Want to wager three points, ladies?” I ask.

Lacey offers me a big smile, and Poppy jots down a three on the slip of paper. She stands and runs toward the front of the restaurant.

“I was just saying that she has a lot of popular songs,” he tries to argue.

“It’s okay. We know when we’re right, and we’re never wrong about Taylor Swift. You’ll see,” Lacey teases, but Chris doesn’t look amused.

Poppy returns with a cocky smile. “We were right,” she says, plopping down in her seat next to Logan and cutting her eyes in Chris’s direction.

The music fades out, and our host comes back on the mic. “Alright. The second category is poppin’ bodies. If you were to crack the joints of your finger, what three joints would you be popping?”

Both Chris and Lacey’s faces light up. “Quick, give me the paper, Poppy,” Lacey practically shouts.

“Distal interphalangeal joint, metacarpophalangeal joint…” Chris begins. Lacey is scribbling them down as the rest of the table watches her and him work together to come up with the answer. I fucking hate it.

“Shit. What’s the third one?” Chris asks. They search each other’s faces like the answer is somehow going to appear on the other’s forehead. The knot in my gut tightens. I have no right to feel this way. I know I don’t, but I hate seeing her with this guy. I barely know him, but it’s obvious she is way out of his league.

Lacey looks back at the paper and reads it to herself a couple of times before a wide smile spreads across her lips, and she begins to write again. “Proximal interphalangeal joint,” she whispers.

“Yes, that’s it,” he says, slapping the table.

“Y’all good with two points?” she asks. We all nod, and she jumps up from the table and runs the paper to the front. Jealousy pulses through my body, and I take a long swig of my beer letting the ice-cold liquid cool me down.

“No way any of the other tables got it correct,” Chris boasts.

“I guess we’ll see,” Tanner says. Lacey returns with a big smile on her face.

“Okay, last question of round one. The category is popular sports. This sport was invented in 1965 by Pritchard, Bell, andMcCallum.” “Don’t Stop Believing” is fed through the speakers, and our whole table is filled with blank stares and blinks.

“Does anyone have any idea?” Logan asks.

“Not a fucking clue, man,” Tanner adds.

“Would be really nice if we could use our phones right about now.”

“Don’t you even think about it,” Poppy scolds, her finger shooting in my direction.

I throw my hands up. “I wouldn’t dare, but I have no clue what he’s talking about.” I shake my head.

“Could it be basketball?” Chris asks.

“Basketball has been around a lot longer than 1965,” I say.

“True,” Lacey says. “So, think of some newer sports.”

The other tables are all noticeably quiet and I know we need to get this answer right.

“It’s pickleball,” Wren says, so quietly that I can barely make it out.

“What?” Logan asks.

“The answer is pickleball,” she repeats.

The corners of Tanner’s mouth tip up. “Hell yeah, Wren.” He puts out his hand for a high five, and she hesitantly meets him with hers. “How did we not think of that?”

“Hurry, Poppy. Write it down,” Gray says. She writes quickly placing our final point next to the ten-letter word. She pops up and runs toward the front as the last notes of the song play.

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