I whisper-shout, “I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t going to?—”
He snorts. “Sure.”
“You were getting texts!”
Patton hisses, “From a walking encyclopedia. I was just curious, so sue me.”
How can he be so big and so juvenile at the same time?
We’re both standing now, facing each other across the table like two fighters in a ring. The entire restaurant watches.
This is a disaster. I should have stayed home with my crossword puzzle.
Lucky bangs a gavel. “Winnie and Patton are disqualified for unsportsmanlike conduct!”
“Wait—” I sound like I’m talking through a Halloween mask and must look horrified.
“We didn’t mean—” Patton says at the same time.
“Your punishment,” Lucky announces with theatrical flair, “is to sit there and watch the honest folks compete while you think about what you’ve done … and no free soft drink refills.”
Peggy lifts a finger. “You’re not authorized to do that.”
Everyone at Huck’s erupts in murmurs. I sink back into my seat, mortified. Patton does the same, his jaw so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
We sit in excruciating silence while the other teamscontinue playing. Our knees bump under the table. We both jerk away like we’ve been shocked by a high-voltage electrical cable.
“Thanks for ruining the night,” I murmur under my breath.
“I didn’t want to be here anyway,” he fires back, just as quietly.
“Could’ve fooled me with all that enthusiastic team spirit,” my voice drips with sarcasm.
“Says the woman who searched online for answers.”
I cringe. “You were getting texts!”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Austin and Mindy shake their heads, leaving us alone in our misery and quibbling.
Another team wins the last round, wrapping up the game. Lucky holds up the miniature squirrel statue—identical to the massive carved one outside, just pocket-sized. “The champions take home glory!”
“Didn’t want that stupid miniature statue anyway,” Patton mutters.
I glance at the prize. “Technically, it’s a life size rendition of a squirrel.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “It’s six inches tall.”
“Life size for a chickaree squirrel. They’re small.” I pause. “Unlike the giant carved replica outside.”
His mouth twitches. It’s not quite a smile, but maybe he’s trying not to laugh at us parsing out the intricacies of squirrel size. Or he’s just laughing at me, which is more likely the case.
“Guess we don’t work well together,” I say.
“Definitely not.”
