“And you?” I ask Caleb.
“I only joined in September,” he mumbles. “I told you. I didn’t know anything else… Not before you told Sarah everything about Bo,” he says pointedly. I may have deserved that, but I still glare back at him.
“We had another friend from our support group who had been playing with us,” Bo explains, his expression holding as he scratches his cheek. “He passed in June.”
I look between Walter and Bo, who share a sad but gentle look of reassurance. “I’m sorry,” I offer around the table.
Walter pats Bo’s back with a gentle series of slaps. “We’re getting through it. And,” he says, turning his attention to Caleb, “we’re lucky to have Caleb to fill his shoes.”
I nod, looking around at the men once again, unsure of when to step away. Adamir is stacking his dice in front of him as Kevin and Jer make lovey-eyes at each other, whispering. Bo sets one final piece down and nods to himself, as if the table is complete. Caleb mouthsdid you tell her?and I sharply turn away from him.
“Well, it was good to meet you all. I’m going to—”
The doorbell rings, cutting me off.
“Pizza must be early,” Bo says, then circles around the table and passes by me, toward the front room.
“It’s not the pizza, is it?” Kevin whispers to me, a giddy smile overtaking his face. Hedoeslove the drama. I like Kevin, I decide.
I shake my head—wearing a thinly veiled smile of my own.
“Caleb?” Sarah calls out from behind me, storming in. “Caleb Andrew Linwell, this isnota kickboxing class.”
“That’s my cue,” I say to Kevin, pointing over my shoulder toward my bedroom. “Lovely to meet you all! Kick dragon ass! Escape the dungeons and whatnot!” I shout, jogging to my bedroom before Caleb’s death glare strikes me down.
You know, with his musical magic and all.
CHAPTER 19
I’llsayit.I’mnot ashamed. Dungeons and Dragons is pretty fucking cool.
The moment Sarah was done giving Caleb the hefty public lecture he deserved for lying to her for months, she came to my room and dragged me back out to sit with her and watch. Sarah is not the type to leave an audience hanging, and based on all the giggling,oohs,andahhsI could hear from down the hall—the men around the table were eating herup.
For the first ten minutes, I sat and crocheted while Sarah picked at her fingernails and sneaked pictures of Caleb, giggling to herself when it was his turn to speak.
But then, and I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment if I tried, our attention was captured. Bo was crafting a story so elaborate that Sarah and I simply gawked, passing a bowl of popcorn back and forth, while the men around the table played out a battle in which they took down a raven-feathered shapeshifter and his small army of thieves, defending a local inn.
“My husband’s a goddamn hero,” Sarah whispered to me, her lips parted in awe.
They wereveryconvincing.
For me, it was the way Bo commanded the table that had me blushing and flustered. The ease with which he’d adapt to whatever the players decided to roleplay—the simple way he instructed and let them guide the story. And then, when hewasthe voice of the raven-feathered villain? Game. Over.
The hauntedevilthat washed over his features? The bass-deep tone to his lowered, gravel-like voice? I’d have gotten pregnant again, if such a thing was possible.
“What does this say about us?” I whispered back to Sarah when I caught her fanning herself.
“Let’s not think about it too hard,” she said, blowing a kiss to Caleb—who was clearly no longer sleeping on the couch.
Three hours passed before Bo called the time, and the men all left character and returned to therealworld. Sarah and I began shouting our complaints, as we used to at the television when our telenovelas ended on a cliff-hanger.
“What about the swamp woman? Isshethe dead princess? Does she have the sword of enlightenment? What happens next?” Sarah asks, eyes filled with desperation.
“I think we have an audience from here on out, lads,” Walter says, placing his dice in a small wooden box.
I yawn, stretching my arms over my head, and Bo tilts his chin up, winking at me—as if my yawn was a nonverbal cue to get everyone out. I hadn’t intended it to be, but I appreciate the concern.
“Walter, are you still okay to host next month?” Bo asks, making quick work of packing the table.
