Maggie rolls her eyes. “And the other one percent?”
Sam’s grin widens. It’s the first time all day Maggie hasn’t insulted him. “I’ll let you know when I come up with a catchphrase, Evangeline. Until then, you’ll just have to live with the ninety-nine percent...”
The way he says her middle name is... different. And I’ve never seen Maggie blush like that because of a guy.
I’m sure she doesn’t like Sam like that—not yet, at least. But it’s obvious she’s intrigued. Maggie needs stimulation, someone to challenge her, and Sam—who’s always bored—seems more than willing to provide it. Honestly, it’s about time they got to know each other. If it were up to me, I’d have introduced them years ago. But both of them are always so busy, barely finding free time.
And besides, Sam usually avoids close connections so he won’t drag anyone else into the nightmare of intrusive paparazzi.
I rummage in the drawer of the TV cabinet, then carry a stack of six controllers over to the coffee table, setting them down in front of everyone.
Before Maggie can tell Sam to go dunk his head in the toilet and flush it—like she did at the restaurant—I start reading my rules again. “There will be five rounds. First, all six of us dance a group choreography and score points individually. Second, everyone does one solo choreography, and those points get added to the previous round. Third, we split into three pairs—each pair dances, points are added, and for each pair, the higher scorer moves forward. Then, the fourth round is a three-way choreography to decide the final two. Last, the final round: the highest score wins. Got it?”
I’ve been dreaming of organizing a tournament like this since middle school—playing Just Dance all night with friends. Vincent and I have always played together, even though hedoesn’t like dancing. He was my partner in every routine and probably knows the choreography almost better than I do.
I designed the tournament so that everyone can participate and have fun. I even prepared a list of the best choreographies for each round, and for the solo stage, I picked specific routines I’m sure each person will enjoy.
Vincent instinctively nods when I finish explaining, while the others glance at one another before releasing a collective sigh and nodding.
Each of them picks up a controller, lining up in a row and leaving me in the middle. I can’t help but beam as I select the six-player version of One Direction’sKiss You—then press play.
––––––––
-*?? . ??? ? ?.-*??
It’s past eleven, and the popcorn bowl is empty while Fleur sleeps curled up on the couch.
We’re in round three, and Will’s still complaining about his ranking. At the moment, I’m in the lead, followed by Maggie and Vincent.
Sam lounges on the sofa next to my dog, happily spooning hazelnut ice cream onto potato chips and eating them like it’s gourmet cuisine. Vincent, sitting beside him, raises a skeptical eyebrow. Sam rolls his eyes and scoops another chip with ice cream, offering it to him. My best friend hesitates, then accepts. The second the strange mix hits his tongue, he lets out a guttural cry of delight.
The sound sends a strange pang through my stomach, but I shove the feeling away and take the folded note Steven’s holding out to me.
Meanwhile, Vincent and Sam are already bickering about ice cream.
I unfold the card and read aloud. “Will.” He perks up, curious to hear who his opponent will be. I hold out my hand for the next draw, and Steven fishes another card from the jar I’d prepared before everyone arrived. I open it and smile. “Will versus Maggie.”
Will groans, throwing his arms out dramatically. “Perfect. I’m screwed. I demand a do-over!”
Maggie and I both burst out laughing.
“How am I supposed to beat a graduated dancer and a choreographer!” he complains. “It’d be easier to spot a zebra shopping in New York!”
“There’s a scene like that inMadagascar! That counts, right?” I shoot back.
“Really? I’ve never seenMadagascar,” Sam says, deadpan. Will doubles over laughing while both Maggie and Steven roll their eyes.
“You’veneverseen it? We could’ve watched it during Turner’s classes,” I say.
Sam grins. “We’ll watch it tomorrow morning, after our run. Breakfast andMadagascar.”
“Perfect!” I chime.
Steven just rolls his eyes and rests his head in the crook of my neck. Sitting between his legs on the floor, I tilt my head back to look at him. “You okay?”
He nods faintly. “Just a little headache.”
Shit. I knew I should’ve turned the volume down. “Do you want to—”
