“No,” she says at the same time I say, “Yes.”
“We’re not doing this. I’m leaving.”
“It’s one game. Indulge me. I know you know how to play.”
“I drove here. I don’t need to have more than one drink.”
“I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
Her breath hitches. “Do I even want to know what you mean by that?” She shakes her head.
“One game. Pretty please.” I do the puppy dog eyes again.
“Goodbye, Tanner.”
I’m desperate for her to stay. Partly because I don’t want to be alone, and partly because I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to hang out with just her again, and by some miracle this conversation is actually going kinda well.
“Pretty pretty pretty please,” I beg, clasping my hands in front of my face. I make my eyes even bigger and protrude my lip a little more.
“Fine. One game, but then I’m leaving.”
Jackpot!
“Told you that look never fails me,” I boast.
“And I wasn’t lying when I said you’re insufferable.”
Fuck, I like when she gives me shit.
I shift my gaze to Frank. “Another round of drinks and two ping-pong paddles, please.”
We collect the items and walk over to the ping-pong table in the corner of the bar. “Okay, so to recap, if I win, you have to tell me why you’re drinking alone, and if you win, I’ll tell you about my day.”
“This seems unnecessary, but if you insist. I’ll serve first,” she says, rolling her eyes and taking a sip from her glass.
She throws the little orange ball and sends it flying over the net. I hit it back. We continue that way for a fewexchanges before she hits the ball with as much force as I think she can, causing me to miss it completely.
“Ha!” she shouts as I sip my drink. “Thought you were good.”
Her statement makes me choke, and I realize I don’t just like when she gives me shit, I might be addicted.
She serves the ball again, and I hit it so hard it spins. She misses it completely. “Still think I’m bad at this game?” I tease.
“Do you want my honest answer?” she asks.
We go back and forth, matching each other point for point.
“8-7,” she shouts. She finished her drink two serves ago, and I can tell the alcohol has loosened her up a bit. “Your serve, playboy.”
Fuck me. I like when she calls me that.
“Playboy?” I shake my head and smack the ball in her direction. She stumbles and misses it. “8-8. I think those drinks are catching up with you.”
She sticks out her tongue.
The ball bounces between us. Each of us scores point after point. “10-10. You gonna let me win, uh…” I pause. I want to nickname her too, but I’m not sure what to call her. The first words that pop into my mind are dream girl, but I say my second choice instead.“Wrenny.”
“Nope. Don’t call me that.”
