“I’m going to start with a slice of each. What about you?” she asks, holding one of my plates in her hand.
“Yeah, I think I’ll do the same. I’ll grab drinks.”
“I’ll meet you on the couch.” We purchased one pack of hard cider that was already chilled and put the other in the fridge. I grab two that are cold, some napkins, and walk over to the couch where I have already set up Plunder. Think if the games Risk and Battleship had a baby, it would be Plunder.
“Oh my God, can we just talk about that cake for a second and how dry it was? The Beave actually thought that was the best in town. No offense to the baker . . . but woof.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Are you going to require a dessert to make up for that? Because I can get something delivered. Anything for your heroism today. Taking down The Beave requires all the good things to come your way.”
“Hmm.” I hand her a drink, and she hands me my pizza. I rest the napkins between us. “You know, I’ve always believed donuts can be eaten at any time. Let’s get a dozen glazed jelly from Arnold’s.”
“Let me grab my phone. I’ll order.” I move back to the bedroom, grab my phone, and then pause when I see a text from Brian.
My stomach drops, and I wonder why the hell he’s trying to communicate with me. What would he have to say to me?
I should just delete it. Not even read it.
If only my head worked that way. Unfortunately, it doesn’t because curiosity gets the better of me.
Brian:I know you’re with Lia. She’s not answering my messages. I know we haven’t been on the best of terms, but can you please have her call me?
“Ha!” I laugh out loud. “Okay, sure, Brian.” I delete his text message and move back toward the living room.
In his fucking dreams.
* * *
“Arrrrrrrrr,ye land lubber, hand over ye resources,” Lia says while holding out her hand and twiddling her fingers.
“But if you take the last of my rum, I won’t have anything. Do you really want to end the game like that?” I ask on a hiccup. “Taking a man’s rum?”
“I said hand it over.” She jabs my side with the fake hook she brought over from her apartment.
I hold my hands up in defeat. “Fine. Take my rum, but I hope you burn in hell.”
She holds up the rum in absolute victory and hops up on the couch, parading around.
I lean back and watch. “Victory is mine once again,” she coos right before flopping back down on the couch and tossing her hook to the side. “I think I need another drink. Want one?”
I glance at the already eight empty cans between us and say, “Maybe some water. If we keep this up, we will be passing out at eight.”
“Is that a problem? Copious amounts of sleep are good for the body, you know?”
“Very true. Fine, grab me another. I’ll clean up the board.”
“Clearing the evidence of my victory already? You’re such a poor sport.”
“Lia, I just lost three times. It is five at night, and I have nothing to show for myself today other than cheering you on as you told The Beave off, demolishing cake from your hand, and eating six slices of pizza.”
“Seems like you accomplished a lot to me.”
“Not as much as you.”
She playfully fluffs her hair and says, “Well, no one can accomplish as much as I did. I palmed a cake and stormed out of a bakery.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head.”
She grabs us both a drink, and I abandon cleaning up the game when she hands me a cider. We crack them open together and take long swigs.
