Page 30 of Love is a Game

He gave her an appraising look and slipped his own paper into his back pocket. “Me too. Gracie?”

She held up her paper, a glowing smile spreading across her face.

Andrew took it from her and whistled when he read her word. “That is correct! Let’s hear it for Gracie!”

Everyone whooped and cheered, reaching out to give her high fives and hugs. Andrew turned off the television and directed everyone to the shelf of books where they could pick their prize. A couple of the moms held back to thank him for hosting the event before being called over by their kids to help.

Sadie stood nearby, staring at him with her arms crossed. She knew; he could see it in her eyes. She held her hand out to him, wanting confirmation. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it in her open palm.

“That was nice of you,” she said when she read his correctly spelled word. “I know how much you like winning.”

“I do like winning,” he agreed, “so let’s see yours.”

Wordlessly, she handed him her paper. There it was at the bottom: Insouciant, in crisp, careful handwriting.

“Touché. I guess that makes it a draw.”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say, Chihuahua.”

He clenched his jaw, frustrated that he couldn’t think of a response. She was right. It was a technicality, and he hated that it had come down to that. Sadie grinned and took a step toward him, closing the distance enough that he could smell the fresh citrus of her shampoo.

“If you ever want a rematch,” she said in a low voice that sent a shiver coursing through his entire body, “you know where to find me.”

She turned on her heel and walked back to the office, leaving Andrew frozen in place. He swallowed hard as he watched her go, her long ponytail bouncing from side to side with each step. Did her hips always sway like that? He couldn’t remember. He could barely think. When she closed the office door behind her, he shook his head, trying to clear it, but the scent of her hair would linger in his memory for the rest of the night.

Chapter Eleven

Poker night was an exercise in controlling competitiveness, a kind of exposure therapy. Andrew wasn’t great at cards, which meant he lost more often than not. On top of that, Tyson’s laid-back personality set the tone for the whole group. Andrew knew he would stand out and probably look like a jerk if he took the game too seriously. It was good for him, which was why he made sure he was there every month.

He needed the practice more than ever after the spelling-bee debacle.

Sadie hadn’t been to the library in the two days since it happened. That was supposed to be what he wanted, for her to spend as little time there as possible, yet each afternoon he found himself watching the door expectantly. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, thinking about the way her scent had made his brain go foggy, about the way she moved through a room with absolute confidence, and couldn’t stop hearing those words: “If you ever want a rematch.” He’d even caught himself imagining, more than once, what it would be like to watch her take down that sleek ponytail and let loose her long hair.

He shook his head and tried to focus on his cards. Had he been holding a pair of sixes the whole time? He couldn’t remember.

“Price looks worried,” Tyson said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Maybe I should raise.”

There were five of them around the table, a smaller group than usual. Kimura, a firefighter, sat on Andrew’s right. On his left were two of Tyson’s coworkers, Webb and Rivera. The game was usually made up of mostly first responders, which was mildly intimidating. Andrew always felt like he was in the middle of a calendar photo shoot when they got together. It was part of the reason he worked so hard at the gym every morning: he didn’t want to be the smallest guy at the table. Another competition.

“Nah, don’t fall for it,” Kimura told Tyson. “His poker face is better than that. He’s just trying to throw you off.”

He wished that were true.

He added his chips to the pile after everyone else made their bets, and Tyson turned another card over. Another six. He might win the round if he started paying closer attention.

“You’re up, Kimura,” Tyson said.

Kimura stared at his cards thoughtfully, rubbing his chips between his fingers.

“Come on, man,” Rivera said. “What’s the matter? Long night of rescuing cats got you feeling tired?”

“I’m calculating,” he replied, ignoring the dig and dropping his chips. “Hey, what was the deal with that 10-55 last night? There was a bunch of chatter about it on the radio.”

Webb groaned. “It was our favorite repeat offender. Caught her swerving all over Main Street. She tried to punch Monroe in the face.”

“Too bad she can barely reach his belly button!” Rivera laughed.

“You’d be surprised,” Tyson said, “For blowing a .12, she had decent aim. Got me pretty good on the shoulder before I managed to get the cuffs on her.”

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