“Whatintheever-loving fuckis going on?” Sarah asks, whisper-yelling, as she reaches for more tortilla chips from her pantry.
Sarah and I have teamed up for every round ofCatansince Bo and I arrived three hours ago, and yet we’re still not coming close to either of us winning. Bo is absurdly good at board games, and Caleb is certainly not helping by giving the guy every trade he asks for.
“If I knew, we wouldn’t be getting our asses kicked by the Jolly Green Giant out there. I blame Caleb,” I answer, pulling salsa out of the fridge.
“Bo’s so eerily calm while trading. It’s like heknowswhat you’re going to do. It’s… strangely hot?” Sarah says, taking the jar from me, her face twisted into concern.
“Oh thank goodness. I thought it was just me,” I whisper. “Like, he keeps doing this smug little chin-scratch thing when he builds a new settlement and—” I cut myself off. “Oh my god, what am I saying? What is he doing to us?”
“Babe?” Caleb says from the archway as he enters the kitchen. “Hey, d’ya need some help?”
“Yes, we need help,” Sarah seethes. “Help understanding why you’d give that man six ore for onefuckingsheep.”
“Honestly?” Caleb asks. “I don’t know. It’s like he just charmed them out of my hand.”
“We need to get it together and form a united front. He isdestroyingus.” Sarah sighs, reaching in front of me for a chip bowl from the cabinet. “Maybe we should just stop playing board games and go into full interrogation mode. Who is this guy? What went down with the she-devil? Why did he call off the engagement? What are his intentions with Winnie? Caleb, you’ll be the good cop.Obviously.”
I’m about to protest when footfalls sound from the hallway.
“Everyone in here?” Bo questions, entering the kitchen in leisurely stride with a hand in his jeans pocket. He glances around, taking in our faces with a perplexed smile. “Did something happen?”
“Nope! Totally fine,” Sarah replies in a pitch several octaves above normal.
“They’re a little mad you’re winning at everything,” Caleb says. The little rat.
“I did try to warn you,” Bo says, pointing to me, grinningfartoo wide. “I’m competitive.” He shrugs one shoulder.
“This isn’t normal competitive,” I argue, pointing back at him.
Bo moves closer to me, his eyes held on my extended finger as he keeps walking, only stopping when the tip of my finger presses into the hardness of his ribs. I ignore the overturning sensation in my stomach as he arrogantly smiles down at where we touch.
“You’re not flipping the Monopoly board because you lost or faking dice rolls. This is some sort of sexy Jedi-mind-trick shit.” I jab him in the ribshardbefore turning toward the kitchen’s barstools and dropping onto one with the tiniestof tantrums.
“Me? Sexy?” Bo clutches his chest, amusement lighting up his features.
“You pulled that word out of context.”
“We don’t know how you’re doing it, butwhenwe figure it out, you’re done,” Sarah says, stepping to my side and throwing her arm around my shoulders.
“Maybe we just play a new game? Cards?” Caleb suggests, his mouth full of chips and salsa.
Three, two, one…
“Strip poker?” Sarah says, crossing the kitchen toward her husband, smiling ear to ear.
“Sarah,” Caleb sighs out quietly, letting his head hang. “No,” he says, dejected.No,he mouths again when she pouts at him, twisting her body from side to side, quietly pleading.
“I’m always up for a little strip poker,” Bo says, smirking at my friend.
“Oh god,” Caleb says to no one in particular, his expression filled with horror. “There’s two of them now.”
“No one is getting naked,” I say, at first to Caleb, then to the two troublemakers. “The last time I was naked in this home, I left with a very expensive, lifelong party favour. So, no thanks.”
Bo’s laugh escapes through tightly closed lips. “Fair enough.” He reaches across the counter for a chip, tosses it into the air, and catches it in his mouth.
“Ooh! Speaking of that party favour…” Sarah walks to the other side of the kitchen and into her butler’s pantry, disappearing out of view. “I got you two a present,” she says, returning with a basket that covers half her torso. It’s wrapped in clear cellophane with a big red ribbon on the top.
“Sarah,” I whine as she places the present on the opposite end of the island. “Christmas is in two days. You really shouldn’t have.”
