Page 2 of For the Win
It’s a generous offer. Sabbaticals come with a pay cut that will pinch. And Val knows how restless I get with nothing to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending weekends catching up on reading and watching my shows, and can scroll through TikTok and Insta for hours at a time (for teaching resources, of course), but that kind of brain candy only feeds me for so long before I start feeling the compulsive need to be useful.
“We’ll see.” I’d rather find something on my own than end up watering his office plants. Not right away, though. All I need to do right now is spend more quality time with my friends. A couple of them have gotten their heads firmly stuck up their asses and could use an assist.
That intervention won’t be happening tonight, because one of them is “working” and the other one is too busy raking my decision over the coals to take me seriously. Maybe Ishouldraise a few more glasses to my freedom and find a willing partner in the crowd for a holiday quickie. If the man with the ponytail and tight pants I’m clocking at the end of the bar looks as good from the front as he does from the back, he might be a contender.
Call me a ho, ho, ho.
It’s a wonderful life, I remind myself. And unlike the Jimmy Stewart classic of the same name, I don’t need an angel to show me why I should be thankful. All I have to do is look around the packed pub and point to the three great loves of my life—Connor, Val and Bex. My found family. My ride or dies. The reason I survived my childhood to become the upbeat and hardworking control freak I am today.
“Hey Winnie, check me out!” Connor yells.
That’s me, by the way. Nolan “Win” Winston, though no one uses my first name unless they want my passive-aggressive wrath aimed in their general direction. And only my friends and the voice in my head that likes to keep me humble call me Winnie. For the rest of you it’s Win for the win. All I do is Win, no matter what.
I obediently turn to watch the other dancers make space for him to do the slightly-drunk-straight-boy dance with two women dressed in outfits that together cost a year of our combined salaries. He’s a well-built football coach/math teacherfull of himbo goodness, but he does like to burp the alphabet for fun, and those ladies look more like morning-mimosa types.
Still, he’s got a certain charm, they’re all flushed with drink and good cheer, and ’tis the season. Maybe this is an opposites-attract meet-cute, and one of them will agree to take him off my hands and finally make me an uncle. We turned thirty-three this year, and so far he’s the only member of our tight-knit group likely to settle down picket-fence style and give me some vicarious domestic-bliss thrills.
Those other two sure aren’t ponying up to the bar.
“There may be several regrets in his future.” Bex appears at our table, adjusting her new, more fashionable glasses and fanning her flushed cheeks after her spin around the dance floor. “I’ve seen those ladies at a few of Kate’s other events and all I can say is that they’re a handful.”
Rebecca “Bex” Gordon is a computer nerd and the de facto leader of our gang. Apart from us, she’s not a fan of humanity as a whole—or sunlight—and she’d much rather be fiddling with gadgets or getting into other people’s business, which is why her new job is such a weird flex for her. She’s got a green streak in her chin-length brown bob to match her twinkling green eyes, and a benevolent, but occasionally terrifying boss who knows everyone’s secrets.
Predictably, Val has tensed at her appearance and retreated into his water glass. On paper, he’s a successful architect and probably the most together of all of us, and he’s definitely the most attractive. Too bad he’s also a giant chickenshit. That’s the reason we haven’t had afunfamily dinner and game night in years. We still have them, of course, twice a month like clockwork. They’re just filled with awkward silences and angsty undercurrents instead of the traditional laughter and acceptance I’ve come to expect.
It’s been getting worse lately, and as long as Bex keeps pretending to be oblivious and Val continues to keep his feelings to himself, it isn’t going to get any better. When it’s fiction, I love shows like this—the will-they-won’t-they drama of it all. But these are my friends and they’re both suffering. Maybe I really should hold an intervention. Wouldn’t that be a laugh? The one anti-commitment guy in the bunch handing out relationship advice?
Update on Ponytail Guy: He just bent over to pick something up and I almost had a mini orgasm. Have I mentioned what a great ass he has and how shallow I am? I feel like I should whistle or something to make him turn around. I’m dying to get a good look at the rest of him.
“Is Conman still pouting about your vacation?” Bex brings my attention back to our table while keeping her gaze carefully fixed on me. Since Val is the size of a muscular tank, it’s an admirable attempt.
“The beer made it worse. It seemssomeonetold him our drinks were on the house because we’re your besties.” I give her a what-can-you-do shrug. “And it’s not a vacation. When I’m retired on a tropical island surrounded by naked men fanning me and feeding me cookies, then you can call it a vacation.”
“The drinks were Kate’s idea. And if that’s what you want, Win, I can make it happen.”
I shake my head wryly. “You can ‘make it happen’? You’re sounding more like your boss every day. You know that in this particular Batman series, you’re actually Alfred the butler’s cute and sassy niece.” I frown. “Wait, didn’t she become Batgirl in the movie? I think that was a bad analogy.”
“Very funny. I didn’t tease you a few days ago when you asked if he could teach you how to be a spy for your sabbatical.”
When Val turns a curious look my way, I glare at her. “He knew I was joking. And youhavebeen teasing me. Continuously.I seem to recall you sending me an insulting 007 meme this morning.”
Bex and her uncle have been assuring me for years that their boss, Ken Tanaka, is not, in fact, a spy. Not really. Heisfilthy rich, and occasionally does some computer work for the government. And he and his fiancé did go undercover to deal with a human-trafficking thing years ago. The condos he owns—where Bex lives and works—do happen to hold an assortment of people who have interesting stories and highly suspicious skills. There’s also the fact that he knows so much about me that I check my apartment for hidden cameras and bugs on a regular basis.
But I’msurethey’re right that the security analysis business he runs isn’t a front for covert activities and surveillance. At all. And I’m absolutely positive Mr. Ken “Batman” Tanaka isn’t monitoring our every move with his own personal satellites.
“Let’s stop talking about him before he gets angry,” I whisper.
She rolls her eyes. “Could you not?”
I stifle a laugh. “I’d rather discuss your moves on the dance floor anyway. I thought you hated crowds and believed line dancing was for sheeple. Where did our nightshift-loving loner go?”
“It’s a job requirement,” she says with a grimace. “I invited you because you love Finn’s and I wanted to talk to you about this break you’re taking.”
It’s official. We’re both worried about each other. She’s worried about my sabbatical and I’m worried about her new job.
Can you call macking on a hot redhead in the corner a job?
I sigh in resignation.C'est la vie, Ponytail Guy.“We might have to save the talking for another time. This party looked fun, but Connor’s already too tipsy to meet the moment, the big guyhere is nearing his limit of peopling for the year, and you’ve got a body to guard. We should go and leave you to it.”
