Page 27 of Dating Goals
“Your play,” he says, and I realize everyone’s waiting on me.
I stare at my hand. Bells? Roses? What beats what again?
“Today, McGregor.” Evan taps his cards impatiently.
I slap down what I think is a high card. The king of roses.
Colin snorts. “Trumps are acorns this round.”
“Right. I knew that.” I didn’t know that. I’m almost positive they’re making stuff up at this point.
My head spins a little. This is perfect. Exactly the distraction I needed. I catch Anika watching from behind the bar, watching me crash and burn. I’m okay with that. When our eyes meet, she quickly looks away, but I swear I see the ghost of a smile.
Colin grins, gathering the cards for a new deal.
“Okay we’ll try again,ja?” Colin begins to explain, lining up his own cards. “Swiss Jass. Four suits, nine cards each. The Jack is the highest card. We call it the Bauer. Then the nine, the Nell, then King, Ober, ten, and so on.”
Seriously, they might as well be speaking Martian.
As I study my cards, the guys fall into their usual banter. It’s comfortable. Normal.
“So I announce my trump suit?” I clarify, trying to keep up.
“Exactly.” Lars nods. “Choose wisely. We’re playing for pride here.”
I look at my jumble of unfamiliar cards and take a shot in the dark, throwing down a random card.
The guys exchange looks.
“What? What did I do?”
“You just played your trump,” Colin says slowly.
“Is that…bad?”
“You just won the hand,” Evan says, shaking his head. “With possibly the worst strategy I’ve ever seen.”
I stare at the pile of cards. “Really?”
“Pure luck,” Colin mutters, pushing some coins my way.
“Oh!” I allow myself to gloat a little, giving a side glance toward Anika. “Cool.”
The game goes on for the next hour to a soundtrack of 80s eurorock, but my dumb luck wore out after that first win. Oh well. I knew it couldn’t last. Now I’m down about sixty francs, but I don’t care, because I’m too busy watching Anika work.
I’m only half focused on my cards. My eyes keep drifting to her, mesmerized by how she moves behind the bar, singing along to The Clash and Erasure.
When she catches me looking, she gives me this half-glare that should probably terrify me but instead makes my pulse skip. The beer is hitting just right, making everything feel warm and pleasant. I signal for another round.
“Your funeral tomorrow,” Lars says, but doesn’t stop me from ordering.
“Worth it,” I mumble, watching Anika as she pulls the tap handles. My head’s already fuzzy from the first two, but whatever. I’m not playing tomorrow, and these guys are actually pretty fun when they’re taking my money.
The door bangs open, letting in a blast of cold air along with two guys who look like they stepped out of a 90s grunge band. The taller one’s got a leather jacket with too many zippers, while his buddy’s sporting a patchy beard. They swagger up to the bar, reeking of cigarettes.
“Hey! Two beers!” The tall one slaps his hand on the bar.
Anika doesn’t even look up from wiping glasses. “We’re closing soon. One round only.”
