Page 60 of Don't Game Me
“Is someone hurting you in California?” He couldn’t drop it. Something wasn’t right.
Her eyes darted to his and away before another bite of cake. She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her.
“I recognize the signs when someone’s trying to hide fear.” The weight in his words inadvertently implied a long history far more than roughhousing on the playground with friends.
Her smile dropped. She touched his face. “Did someone hurt you as a kid or as an adult?”
His breaths shortened until his lungs burned. His heart pounded. He felt as if he stood on the edge of a cliff. Was he actually going to tell her? His stomach rolled as the words came out. “That was a long time ago.”
“What happened to you?” He interpreted true concern in her gaze. No judgment. Only her being troubled about a kid who got smacked around.
He’d never discussed this with anyone, not even the annoying therapist he’d been forced to visit weekly throughout high school after he’d started three fights during freshman P.E. He found it easier to keep people at a distance. People liked assuming his childhood was hunky dory. They thought he’d been born with a silver spoon, and his newfound success a given. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”Please don’t push it.
“My dad mentioned something about your father not being very nice. I guess they knew each other through business. He also said your father died just recently. I’m sorry. It’s not right you had it rough.”
He rubbed his face, not just to hide from her, but also to relieve his sudden headache. Maybe if he opened up, she might too. Tentatively, he said, “My father liked to get high or drunk, sometimes both. Then he got mean. Generic bad childhood crap. Mom and I learned how to avoid him when he was in a mood.”
“Is that why you don’t drink, at least no more than a social sip?”
She’d noticed? Few did. He nodded. “I don’t want to tempt the demon.”
“What does that mean? Do you think you’ll get drunk and mean?”
His shoulders lifted and dropped.
“You’re not that person. I’ve seen you get mad, mostly at me.” She smiled and shrugged. “I admit, I started a few of those arguments on purpose, but I never felt threatened. Deep down, I hoped you’d lose control, although I never thought you’d hurt me. I imagined you kissing me. It’s what made arguing with you exciting.”
“We are products of our upbringing.”
She seemed to take his hint to desist pushing. “Do you see your mother anymore?”
“Not much. Sad as it is, she actually misses the old bastard and kind of fell apart when he died.” He shook his head. “I never understood their relationship. She’s out in Arizona living in the desert painting crappy pictures of sand. Seems happy.”
“That sounds nice.” The dreamy quality of her voice flared his need to protect her.
“Come back to New York. Quit everything out there. Put out some feelers for jobs here. Send one to us too.”
“Me apply to NJ Legacy? I’d be taking advantage since my brother owns half the company. And…” She smiled impishly. “I slept with his business partner.”
His face fell into a fake stern expression. “We handle everything professionally.”
She chuckled. “Show me your moment of glory tonight…the speech.”
He hooked his phone into the TV. “Don’t judge me harshly. I kind of winged it. I don’t usually procrastinate, but I got distracted last night.”
“Hope it was a worthwhile distraction,” she muttered.
“It was.” He pressed play on the recording.
Under the white tent in the waning dusk, surrounded by small white lights, Jake clinked on his glass with his fork for attention and stood. “Welcome, everyone. I’m Jake, the best man, for the two or three of you here who don’t know me.” A few chuckles. He held up his champagne flute. “Let’s raise our glasses to the beautiful couple. To Tori for choosing such beautiful bridesmaids. To Carol Harrison for setting up such a spectacular wedding. I mean, look around. This took months of planning…and commandeering my personal assistant to get it done. You did good too, Emma.” Cheers and clapping erupted from the audience. Jake held his glass toward Mrs. Harrison. “Carol, thank you for doing the best you could raising Noah.” He smiled broadly. “Noah, it is such an honor and a privilege to be your best man, business partner, and friend. So, there was this time in undergrad…”
Noah blanched.
Jake smiled broadly and toasted his glass toward him in a silentgotcha. “Nah, I won’t tell them aboutthattime. I met Noah about nine years ago at a programming competition at MIT. I thought him a nerdy know-it-all from the few classes we’d shared. Our mentor, the Dew Man, who I think is here tonight…Professor Wingate?” He toasted his glass in the professor’s direction. “He paired us up at the last moment for the competition. What was it? Five minutes before we were to step in the competition room and write the hell out of some asinine anti-hacker program?” He glanced to Noah for corroboration.
Noah nodded, but his face remained pinched. He knew where this was going.
Jake continued, “Well, Noah tripped on his way to our computer station, and spilled red Gatorade all over himself. He spent at least ten minutes off his game, trying to dry off and freaking out over the stain. We were only allotted fifteen minutes to program. During those precious minutes, I had to save his ass…”
