Page 46 of How We Play the Game
“So … ,” Ivan begins with a shrug as I slump forward, my head resting against the cool metal of the closed elevator door. The rumble as we travel down the ten flights between us and the lobby is oddly calming. “What do you want to do?”
“We don’t actually have to do this,” I say as I pick my head up. The urge to press the button for our floor and just crawl under my bedsheets and call it a night is extremely strong. “It’s not like they’re watching us.”
“This is Kavi,” he responds. “She has eyes everywhere.” He has a point. She’s probably checking under my bed right now.
I sigh dramatically as the doorsdingopen on the first floor. There’s a surprising amount of bustle in the lobby area leading out into the city. People coming and going likethey’re running late for a meeting, the security guard at the front desk hardly able to keep up with the number of people tapping their IDs against the scanner as they enter the building. There’s a distinct smell of summer in the air. Sunscreen lotion and aloe vera, and beyond the doors the usual New York smell of honey roasted nuts and barbecue grills.
“Well, what doyouwant to do?” I ask as we step off the elevator.
Ivan shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever you want to do.”
I scoff. Gee, thanks, Ivan. How very helpful. “Stop trying to appease me and make a decision.”
“I would never try to appease you. I’m just saying, I asked you first.”
Ugh, he’s right. I bite down on my tongue to hold in a groan loud enough to pierce the ozone layer. Before I can come up with a suggestion, my stomach lets out a growl that I swear makes the ground tremble beneath me.
Yeesh. I know I’ve been serving up some very cute animated dinners on screen for the last couple hours, but my body didn’t have to act like I’ve been depriving it of sustenance for a week.
Ivan at least has the grace to not belly laugh in my face at my body’s inability to control itself. He’s holding his laughter in just like he was earlier as he nods once, then starts walking toward the exit. “We have an answer, then,” he calls out over his shoulder.
I look around in confusion, as if he left the explanation of his plan behind with me. I jog to catch up to him just as hesteps outside, the humidity hitting me like a water balloon to the face. “Where are we going?”
He gestures to the city with a wide, inviting arm like he’s Willy Wonka beckoning me into his chocolate factory. “I’m taking you to my favorite hidden gem in the city.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I CAN’T BELIEVE you thought you discovered Veselka.”
I know it’s mean to make fun of people for not knowing New York-y things, but Ivan’s hidden gem is literally the most famous pierogi restaurant on the East Coast. I’ve been wheezing since we turned the corner on Second Ave and I saw him bound up the sidewalk like a cocker spaniel to show me his super cool, indie dinner pick: Veselka’s pierogies.
“Well, have you been before?” Ivan spears one of our pierogies—we’ve already forgotten what filling is in any of them—and bites it in half. A dark green tendril almost makes it impossible to get a clean break. Filling: arugula and goat cheese.
“No.”
“And are they now extremely delicious?” He points his fork at the pierogi that’s currently en route to my mouth.
I wait until I’ve finished chewing enough to decipher the filling to respond. Bacon, egg, and cheese. Weird, but satisfying. “You make a good point.”
“A compliment!” Ivan exclaims with so much enthusiasm he drops his fork. “Hell must’ve frozen over! And in the middle of July—a miracle.”
I hide my chuckle behind my hand—both to not give him the satisfaction of knowing he made me laugh, and to save him from seeing a mouthful of half-chewed food. “My uncle and I visit the city a few times a year, and he’s always saying we should try this place out,” I clarify. “I figured I’d come at some point this summer, but I haven’t had the chance yet since fake dating you is a full-time job.”
“And I don’t even come with health insurance.” He raises a brow before helping himself to what I’m pretty sure is … yep. Definitely braised beef. “So what’s up with you and your uncle? You didn’t tell him you were at the academy?”
I swallow hard around my last bite. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, there’s no agenda for this outing, and we have …” Ivan gets a text on his phone and glances at the message while responding. “Infinity hours to kill.”
And I’d love tonotspend all of that time talking about my relationship with my uncle, but in the spirit of trusting Ivan a little bit more for the sake of the bit, I relent. “Fine. So, my uncle is kind of … Clive Lyon.”
“Ha! Knew it,” Ivan says. “I didn’t want to be like, ‘Hey, are you related to this other Black guy,’ just because you have the same last name, but, man, Clive Lyon. That’s nuts. You live with him, right?” Ivan’s voice is too curious for comfort. “What’s that even like?”
There’s a challenge somewhere in the way he’s pushing his luck right now. At first I sense it’s because he wants me totalk about some of the things I hide from him, but that’s not all of it, I think. He wants me to stop wanting to hide things from him. He wants me to stop manufacturing this distance, to stop building my wall so he can stop digging a tunnel under it. I don’t know why he bothers. If I were going to ask Ivan a personal question, it would be why he hasn’t given up on trying to get to know me yet. I’m not asking him a personal question, though, he’s asking me one.
Ivan breaks the silence before I do. “Sorry,” he says. “You don’t have t—”
“No, it’s fine.” I stab another pierogi as fuel for the rest of the conversation. “He used to say it’s one of the easier famouses to be. The only people who recognize him now are deep-cut football nerds and the occasional Netflix documentarian looking for their next ninety-minute sob story.”
