Page 51 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
Cora’s smile cuts like a knife. “I like being right.”
Round three starts with spider trivia. I blank on the first two questions. Biology is also not my thing. Hello, liberal arts degree. But then the host pivots.
“Who was turned into a spider after defeating the goddess Athena in a weaving contest?”
My hand shoots up. I lean toward Jay, starting to whisper, “Arach?—”
“Arachne,” Ryan says first.
I blink. “What?”
He shrugs. “What? I listen sometimes.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just meets my eyes.
Calla notices. Of course, she does. Her eyebrows inch up just slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.
I tell myself I’m sitting here because it’s the open seat. Not because I want to be near him. Not because I want him to smell my perfume and remember touching me. But the truth is, I don’t know why I do anything around Ryan anymore.
“How do you know about Arachne?” I ask.
“Greek mythology’s the only thing you ever talk about,” Ryan says casually. “I remember that one because you told me that horrifying story about Athena turning her into a spider.”
My stomach flips. “You remember that?”
He nods. “It was dark.”
“You’re dark,” I shoot back, soft but automatic.
The rest of the round, we go back and forth like that. Less bite, more spark. Every time I toss something his way, he returns it lighter than I expect. He doesn’t call me Chirp. Doesn’t needle me at all. Just keeps shifting closer until our elbows are brushing at the table.
At one point, Jay gets up to hand in our answer sheet. Calla leans toward me.
“So,” she murmurs, flicking her eyes toward Ryan. “What’s happening there?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
“Oh, you like him.”
“I do not.”
Jay returns and Calla sinks back into her seat, grinning like the damn Sphinx.
When the final tally comes in, we lose by two points. Jay frowns and pushes back from the table, muttering something before heading outside.
Calla sighs, grabbing their coats. “Drama,” she mutters, and follows him out.
Ryan lifts his glass toward me. I shake my head and lift mine in return.
We linger after the loss. Long enough for Iris to eat the rest of the fries. For Bennett and Cora to fall into a whispered, half-playful argument about whether malicious compliance is a legitimate workplace strategy. Whatever that means.
By nine thirty, Iris and Cora are getting ready to go, still laughing as they pull on their coats.
Iris points at me. “You better call me.”
“I will,” I say, nodding.
Cora flashes us both a brief smile. “Night, guys.”
