Page 74 of Love is a Game

That makes me pivot hard the moment there’s a brief lull in conversation.

“Anyway,” I say, steering us to safer ground, “you know what Ireallymiss about the city?”

That does the trick. Soon, we’re deep in a hit list of what small towns lack: museums, art galleries, Broadway shows. Big concerts, ethnic food, public transportation. The endless energy. The late-night buzz. All the things I love about urban life, the things that make meme.

But then, as the sun sinks and the sky turns to streaks of gold and cotton-candy pink, our chatter naturally fades.

“I mean…justlookat that.” Misha’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I so rarely actually stop for a sunset in the city.” She exhales, taking it in. “It’s like you getpluggedback into something bigger. It’s uplifting, right?”

“It’s magical,” Vivian murmurs. “Every sunset is different here. Even the lake changes by the hour—the colors, the birdlife, thepeace.To live among this is such a blessing.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod.

Because, yeah. I know it’s beautiful. I grew up here. But my life is in the city. My work. My studio. My routine. My inspiration. I belong in the city.Don’t I?

Butdamn.That is one hell of a sunset.

The good vibes stretch on. Even as we wrap up and head to the car, I don’t feel the usual rush of anxiety about sliding into the backseat. No urge to be the one in control.

It’s been agoodday. The kind that settles into you, that lingers. The kind I can carry with me into an early dinner and, hopefully, a restful night.

Before the weight of tomorrow sets in.

But then, just as we’re pulling out of the parking lot, Misha blindsides me.

“Are Brady and Tuck still at Battalion?” she asks brightly, tapping her phone.

“Last I checked,” Vivian says, but there’s a wary edge to it. “Brady’s sure gonna be feeling it tomorrow.”

Misha flashes a satisfied smile, still focused on her screen. “Perfect. I just sent Steven there to meet up with them.” She bags her phone and grins at Vivian. “Sooo…can we swing by for a couple more drinks? You can leave the car if you need to—your house is just up the block.”

Vivian sighs, but I can already tell she’s conceding. “I guess. I probably should check in on Brady anyway…see if he managed to offset the effect of copious beers with a burger, at least. He and Tuck have been there for hours.”

Huh. Tuck and Brady out drinking all afternoon? Where wasmyinvite to the boozy reunion?

Vivian glances at me in the rearview mirror. “That okay with you, Penelope? Or I can drop you home first?”

I shrug, keeping my voice as even as possible. “I could go for another drink.”

Inside, though, something sharpens. It makes sense they’d be hanging out. But Tuck never mentioned his plans. Not a word. And sure, I didn’t exactly update him on my day either, but somehow…thatfeels different.

Misha rummages in her bag, pulling out lip gloss and a compact, swiping color onto her lips as she checks her reflection. I catch sight of myself in the window’s faint glare: skin a little too shiny from the heat, damp hair, traces of essential oils weighing it down.Shit.I rake my fingers through the mess, twisting it into a loose braid, tucking it inward—neat, contained.

Then—zing. A heated memory…of the way Tuck seems to really like loose hair and ponytails. The way he fists my hair always gets my blood raging.

My hands pause. Slowly, I unwind my braid, letting my hair fall free, combing through the strands with my fingers. I borrow a sample of Misha’s pomegranate gloss and adjust my cleavage.

I mean—I just like to look my best.

And if looking good reminds Tuck what he’s been missing by not inviting me today, all the better.

When we step into Battalion, surprisingly packed for a Monday night, that pleasant zing grows into something electric, pulsing its way through my nervous system.

It’s the same buzz I used to get before a big debate competition, the same low thrum of energy in a group yoga class, or during my short-lived running phase—whenever I catch myselfcompeting.

Only this? This isn’t about competing. It’s the pure soul-enlivening zing ofanticipation.

It’s why I hang back as Misha and Vivian head toward the bar. Stretching out the seconds before we lock eyes. And why I savor the moment Tuck registers our arrival, looking up as Misha steps into the fray and making space at the bar for Vivian as she slots hands on hips in mock outrage, before ultimately giving in to the charm of Brady’s lopsided grin.

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