“It has no particular significance?”
“That’s why it’s a good day.”
She leans forward and slides Monopoly out of the pile. “You know this is the very worst game in the entire world, right?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“Couples have broken up over this game. Friend circles have imploded. Lifelong enemies have been made. And you’re sending this to your niece?”
“She’s seventeen. Cutthroat. Like her uncle.”
“And byuncle, you mean you, and not another brother?”
“I don’t answer questions for people who hate Monopoly.”
“I didn’t say I hate it. I said it’s the worst game in the world.”
I watch her again.
Watching her might be my new favorite hobby, which is a problem.
A very large problem.
She grins. “I make Silas cry every time we play this.”
“Told you he was a whiny-ass baby.”
“If you want to fit in with your new team…”
Of course she goes there.
Which is basically exactly what I want.
I want her advice.
But I don’t like exposing myself in asking for help.
She shakes the box at me. “We should play this to see if we can be friends.”
“Clothing instead of money.”
“Honesty instead of money.”
“You have a way of making a guy’s balls sweat.”
“It’s a gift.”
I move to the floor, stifling grunts from my sore muscles and creaky joints that say that a strip board game isn’t in my body’sbest interest, which is frustrating as hell. I clear the rest of the boxes off the coffee table and take Monopoly from her.
We’re set up in under five minutes.
Sweet Pea is still sleeping, which says something about how much fun she had today. Or possibly about how much she likes bedtime.
I wish I slept half as well as my dog.
Goldie’s rubbing her hands together, her eyes shining with utter glee. “You’re going down, Huxley.”
I’d go anywhere she told me to go if she ordered me around while she’s lit up like that.
