Page 63 of The Plus Ones
Matt almost laughs. “That model you think I look like, but I don’t.”
“David Gandy!”
“Time!” the resort manager calls out, as half the guests ask who David Gandy is and half of them insist that Matt is way better-looking. He kind of is.
“We got three!” Bernadette claps.
“Only two points, I’m afraid,” the manager says. “You lose one point when you take a pass. Good job, though!”
Bernadette screws up her adorable face and grunts. “You should have kept going!” she says to her husband.
“Name one other celebrity pitcher besides Babe Ruth, who by the way, was more of an outfielder than a pitcher.”
She punches his bicep and grunts again because she can’t name anyone else. She still hates that he knows her so well, but it’s sweet. Must be tough, having such a gorgeous husband who loves and understands and supports you.
“Up next are Mr. Chase and Mrs. Aimee McKay!” the manager calls out.
Keaton and I give each other a look. Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Couple—why do we always have to go after them? He rests his hand on top of mine—a bold move, considering I’ve barely said ten words to him since he tricked me into kissing him this morning. When I got back from my walk, we finished the sand head-in-a-box in silence. We wordlessly agreed to make it a zombie head, which was an obvious choice, since Finn likes zombies and we wouldn’t want to have to explain to him whose head is in the box in the movie and ruin the surprise when he watches it.
The six of us all had dinner together at a restaurant in town, which was wonderful, and while I didn’t say much directly to him, I’ve never been so aware of Keaton when we were in a group before. I keep thinking he needs to lighten up or loosen up, but he’s actually a nice, funny guy, and maybe I just needed to loosen up when I’m around him. I might even like him. Every minute it gets less and less mystifying and terrifying. Some strange island magic is transforming my animosity toward him into straight-up lust and something that feels like…fondness?
I don’t move my hand away, but I don’t lace my fingers with his either.
We watch as Aimee pulls a piece of paper from the basket and the countdown timer starts. She and Chase are standing a few feet apart, but they lean in toward each other, and it just says so much.
“He’s the rock star who goes best with mashed potatoes!” Aimee yells out while doing a little hop.
“Meat Loaf.”
“Yes!” She drops the paper and grabs another one. “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” she raps.
“Kim Kardashian.”
“Woohoo!” Keaton applauds and gets my elbow in his ribs.
“He’s that golfer,” Aimee says.
“Tiger Woods.”
“He sculpted David.”
“Michelangelo.”
“Oh God—that bald guy from the street racing movies you like that I can’t watch.”
“Shit.” Chase stares at the floor because he can’t remember his name.
“Oh! His last name is notgas, it’s…”
“Vin Diesel!”
“Yes!”
“Time!”
Chase and Aimee double-high-five each other, and the manager declares that they have tied the resort’s record for most points in one round.
Keaton pulls me up from the sofa—I had forgotten that he was holding my hand. “You asking the questions this round?”
