Page 29 of The Game Plan

“What’re you doing here?” Barrett grunts.

She offers him a brilliant smile that sends my heart into overdrive. Not fair. She shouldn’t give her smiles out to just anyone. I want them all to myself.

“Miles said something about video games and a movie tonight. Much more fun than a frat party.”

“The more, the merrier,” Tucker says.

“You can join our team,” Barrett adds. “Wes is kicking our asses tonight.”

The bookworm grunts. He never talks in front of people he doesn’t know very, very well. He barely talks to the coaching staff or any of our teammates. It took him six months to say more than “pass the salt” at dinner freshman year.

The couch is full, so Sam settles in the giant armchair in the corner. It dwarfs her, making her look impossibly tiny. I take the other armchair.

“Turkey,” Sam calls out, and I turn my attention back to the screen.

Tucker presses the right button and wins the question. The next answer comes up, and she knows that question, too. Between Tucker and Barrett, our “team” gets the chance to solve six out of ten answers, and Sam knows the right question every single time.

She’s brilliant.

Final Jeopardy! time. Wes has about a $100,000 lead over us. He bets very strategically, and he got all three Daily Doubles right.

Even combining our scores, Wes still beats us in a landslide.

“I think I’m done,” Tucker says, throwing down the game controller. “How do you feel about a movie?”

“I’m down for whatever,” Sam says, giving him her beautiful smile again. Unease rumbles in the pit of my stomach.

“I’ll make popcorn,” I announce. I need something to do with my hands.

“I’ll help.” She springs to her feet and follows me into the small galley kitchen. There’s barely enough room for one person to move around in here, much less two.

I pull three bags of popcorn out of the cabinet. She takes them from me, her delicately calloused fingers brushing against mine, as she tears off the plastic wrap. Getting down the bowls is a stretch, even for me, and my hoodie rides up a bit, exposing my stomach. My face heats up when I notice her eyes glued to the strip of skin revealed by the errant fabric.

Sam swallows. “Do you need any help?”

“Got it.”

Tossing the first bag into the microwave, we wait in silence as the clock winds down.

“Do you want anything to drink? We’ve got water, vodka, juice, hot chocolate…”

Her eyes light up. “You have hot cocoa?”

I nod, showing her the canister.

“It’s perfect. Popcorn and cocoa and a movie,” she says.

I grab two mugs and fill the kettle. Wes takes his tea very seriously. He has about fifteen different varieties of tea in stock at all times. When he saw Greg make tea one time by microwaving his mug, he freaked out. Two days later, the kettle arrived.

Glancing carefully at the main room, I make sure the guys aren’t paying attention before I pull out my secret stash of marshmallows from inside the box of cereal. If I’m not careful, the guys will eat all of them in one night. I always have to buy two bags, one for them and one for me.

“Oooh!”

“Shh!”

Sam presses her lips together, trying to hide her smile. She lowers her voice. “Are these secret marshmallows?”

My face heats up, but I nod.

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