Page 6 of A Holly Jolly Mix Up
“I think she doth believe herself invincible. I might be a lowly man in blue, but I have a college edu-ma-cation backing me up.” I wink at her, which elicits a tinkling laugh that causes my stomach to do flips.
“You know I don’t like to make grown men cry, but I will if the occasion calls for it.” Jane smirks.
“Bring it on, Pearson,” I challenge her as I open the box, setting up the game between us on the coffee table.
We begin picking our tiles, and I look at the mismatched letters on my tray. I groan, silently of course. So far, just consonants, and I can’t figure out a single word. Finally, I get a vowel, but still, nothing comes to mind that might prove my spelling prowess.
My brain goes to mush, and I feel a tinge of panic set in. Jane is across from me, with a satisfied look on her face as she glances in my direction. Sort of like a cat who gets caught with a mouse tail hanging out of its mouth.
“You know we could invoke the ‘what happens in the snowbound cabin with a stranger stays there’ rule,” she offers. “I mean, it could save your ego if we agree to never talk about this after your terrible loss.”
“I haven’t lost yet. We’re just getting started!” I try to sound confident, but a nervous chuckle escapes me. I’m a dead man here, and she knows it.
“I’ll give you a handicap and go first. Give you something to play off of,” she adds.
I roll my eyes and look back at my tray. V, G, R, A, S, Q, and an X.
I stare at the tiles, praying some word might formulate, anything at this point. I regret choosing this game and wish I could phone a friend.
She puts down her tiles, and I sigh. Zephyr.
“You know, this game is rigged. You said it yourself—you’re a dictionary.”
She grins. “You’re just saying that because you’re losing.”
“I’m saying that because it’s true.”
“Hey, you wanted to play.” She raises an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You could’ve chosen any other game, but noooo, you had to try and beat me at Scrabble.”
“I might have been slightly cocky.”
“Slightly?” she questions with sarcasm heavy on the word. “Come on, your turn, Andrew. Just one spectacular word. You can do it.”
I roll my eyes and look down at my tiles and then at the board. My eyes dash back and forth, and I release a sigh. I’m going to have to skip. Then I see it, a letter I could use. I grab my tiles and use the second letter of her word.
“Graves.” I smile smugly.
Jane gives me a knowing look. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see you floundering here. Not bad there, detective. That’s a good one for the points.”
“Generous of you to notice.” I count out the total.
“I just don’t want this to be overly lopsided,” she scoffs as she tosses down her next word: elusive, across a double-word score.
“Of course,” I mutter. “You just happened to have that in your pocket.”
She shrugs. “What can I say?”
She’s a wordsmith. I stare at her flushed, beautiful face. The spark in her eyes as she gives me a hard time. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact we have known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and already, I do not want our time to end. The storm can keep storming, and I’ll just stay here and enjoy this woman’s company.
“You gonna take all day?” she teases, her fingers tapping lightly against her mug. It’s barely 10 a.m., and she’s on her second cup of coffee.
“You know gloating isn’t a good look on anybody.”
“Isn’t confidence supposed to make a woman more attractive?” she says sarcastically.
“Confidence can be attractive…sometimes,” I mutter.
I shift the tiles around a bit, trying to come up with something—anything—that would save me from this humiliating defeat. But nothing is coming to mind.
