By the time the front door opens again, I’ve set the board up, tiles face-down in their little draw area, letter racks ready. My leg bounces under the table, half from leftover adrenaline, half from excitement.
Bran steps inside, bringing a gust of cold air with him. He scans automatically, eyes hitting the windows, the corners, then me.
His shoulders ease a notch when he sees nothing is on fire.
I hold up the Scrabble box like a prize. “Play with me?”
He kicks off his boots, one brow lifting. “Scrabble?”
“Yes.” I put every ounce of weaponized adorableness I have into my eyes. “Please. I need to distract my brain before it disassembles your security system for fun.”
That gets the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s my security system. I’ll be the one disassembling it, thanks.”
“So that’s not a no,” I point out.
He comes to the table, glances down at the board, then drags out a chair and sits. “Sure.”
I blink. “Sure? That’s it? No reluctant grumbling about word nerd games? No macho posturing?”
He reaches for a tile rack. “Why would I posture about a game that lives in my own house?” He nods at the cabinet. “Those are my games. My furniture. My clothing you’re currently stealing.”
“Fair,” I concede, flopping into the chair across from him. “I just didn’t have you pegged as a board-game guy.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he says. “But I do think we should make things more interesting.”
Suspicion narrows my eyes. “Define interesting.”
He gestures for me to draw first. I scoop seven tiles, the familiar clack soothing.
“Loser of each round loses an article of clothing,” he says casually, arranging his own letters.
Heat rushes to my face. “So if my points for a word are twenty-seven, and you play a thirty-five-point word, I lose an article of clothing?”
“Correct.”
I glance down at myself. Oversized T-shirt. Knee socks. That’s…literally it.
“But I’m only wearing four things,” I protest. “Shirt, socks—”
He stretches out in his chair, bare foot nudging mine under the table, eyes sweeping lazily over me in a way that makes my skin prickle.
“I’m only wearing three,” he says. “Jeans, T-shirt, boxers. Scared?”
I straighten my spine. “When you put it like that…” I set my tiles on the rack. Zephyr stares back at me, all smug Z and high-value Y. “Do your worst.”
A smirk lurks at the corners of his lips, like he knows something I don’t. He nods at the board. “Ladies first.”
I hum, arranging letters.
Z E P H Y R slides into place across the center star, all pretty and smug and twenty-something points of meteorological cockiness.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to look too proud. “Not bad, huh?”
“Very nice,” he agrees, eyes flicking over it. He studies his rack, then starts laying down tiles like he’s assembling a weapon.
C A Z I Q U E.
My jaw drops. “That isnota word.”
