Page 72 of Absolute Certainty
“Does everything have to come with some sort of bet?” Willa contested.
“Yes,” Sahar, Miles, and Christian all said at once.
Jay remained quiet. The poor guy. He had no idea what he was in for with this lot.
When they were all seated, Christian spoke. “The person to the left of you does whatever you want for a week.” Pausing, he added, “Within reason, of course.”
Sahar looked toward Jay. He gave her a wink. Ethan planted a quick kiss on the side of Willa’s head.
Miles popped a few pieces of Old Bay-seasoned popcorn into his mouth as Christian began the game as Miss Scarlet. It got too loud too quickly with everyone but Willa jumping at each other’s throats. Jay was also quieter than their wild circle, but he still participated.
Ethan had gone around the table with no one able to counter one of his guesses, and then, when Sahar finally did, he let out a loud grunt. “You’d suck at playing poker, Sahar. You don’t hide shit. I knew it was going to be you,” he said.
Shrugging, she let out a loud laugh. “Who says I’m trying to be subtle? I’m more than happy to gloat when I know you’re about to lose.”
Ethan shook his head, annoyed. Willa sardonically patted his shoulder. “There, there.”
“Whose side are you on?” he fired back playfully.
She tried suppressing a laugh. “My own? I didn’t think there were teams here, babe.”
“And he claimed he wouldn’t help his girl,” Christian remarked.
“Shut it,” Ethan returned, and then he handed the dice to Jay. “Your game.”
The closeness between Jay and Sahar was unmistakable. How Sahar watched him with a look in her eyes Willa had never seen before with her other exes. How he watchedher.He rolled the dice, decided to stay in place at the conservatory, and made a guess.
His body tilted toward Sahar, and his eyes spoke a distinct language with hers.
Jay was asking Sahar to show him a card—a play Willa knew well—but his body language, lax and languid, was a luminous sign of familiarity. A comfortable ease, stretching between them. She leaned closer to him, her hands concealing the card, angled underneath the table for his eyes only.
He glanced back at Sahar to confirm that he’d seen it, and she gave him a playful shrug, a smirk rising along her lips. Miles and Ethan jotted something down on their detective notes sheet. Willa probably should, too—the conservatory, wrench, or whatever. But Willa didn’t care about winning.
She cared about the sight before her. The stark difference in how Jay looked at Sahar compared to how Martin looked at her. How, even though he was probably grumpier by default at the coffee shop, Jay fit in seamlessly around this table. He had an edge about him, but something comforting, too. He wasn’t silently judging any ofthem or calculating how he could one-up them outside of observing the game.
But more importantly, he wasn’t expecting anything from Sahar. Willa could tell as much and more from how he looked at her. From the ease in her friend’s posture while she was around him. Sahar wasn’t second-guessing her every move around Jay. She wasn’t a shell of herself.
She was lively and open and free.
“I got it!” Miles nearly screamed. “I know who the killer is.”
Christian threw a light punch at his shoulder. “Keep it in. You’re wrong ninety percent of the time we play.”
“This time, I’m right,” he argued.
“If he wants to get himself eliminated, who are we to stop him?” Sahar added.
Ethan agreed. “Though I also want to get Sahar eliminated, I’m with her on this.”
Sahar sneered at him, crumpling up her napkin and aiming it straight for his head.
Swerving, Ethan dodged it, and it fluttered lightly onto the floor.
“Control your man, Wills,” Sahar joked.
Willa shrugged her shoulders. “Weren’t we all ganging up on Miles? Why are you two fighting?” she asked, reaching for popcorn from the plate in front of her.
“She knows what she did,” Ethan replied.
