Lacrosse.I knew that one. Everyone assumed it was hockey, but it wasn’t. “Hey, give me the pen.”
I wrote it down and winked at Michael. I bet he put hockey.
“Question two: Scottie Pippen has a word tattooed on his forearm. What does it say?”
“Who the fuck would know this?” Mona said, growling as she scanned each of our faces. “Should I know this name?”
“Chicago Bulls. Early 90s. Come on,” Lilly said, taking the pencil. “My dad is legit obsessed with that team. We have posters all over our basement, and he rewatches the games every time he can. His tattoo says Pip.”
“And you know this because…” Kellie asked the question I was thinking.
“Because I’ve stared at that poster in our basement for twenty years.”
She jotted the answer down.
“Question three: Who was the last NHL player to leave the league without having used a helmet?”
“Fletcher, this one is you!”
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to summon a single name that could be the answer. I was really letting my middle name legacy down. I shrugged, my stomach tightening with defeat. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure.”
“Ugh, your boy sure does.”
He wasn’t my boy, but her meaning was clear. Michael grinned and wrote the answer for his team, somehow looking hot and annoying at the same time.
“Question four: This basketball move was banned from the years 1967 to 1976. What was it?”
“Lilly, you’re the resident basketball guru now,” Mona said. “What was the move? A dribble? Fuck. I don’t even know why people play basketball.” Mona shoved the pencil toward Kellie.
“Shit, I don’t know.” She frowned and scrubbed her hands over her face. “Slam dunk?”
“I’m writing it. I hate not even guessing,” Mona said, drawing attention from the table next to us. I shushed my friend.
The last four questions were about soccer—a sport none of us had ties to, and we turned in our card with all our hopes crushed. If Michael got all of them and gambled with the double-double, earning twice the points, they could tie with us.
That wouldn’t do.
At least we could count on our rivals not knowing anything about sports. They were self-proclaimed nerds.
“Five minute break before round three, people. Get drinks, use the pisser, and hustle back!” the game host said.
I jumped out of my chair at the same time Michael did, and we met somewhere in the middle. He wore fitted jeans, a long-sleeve blue shirt that said CENTRAL on the front, and a backwards hat. His hair escaped from the hat on the sides, and his blue eyes sparkled at me, making my tongue feel two sizes too big for my mouth.
All from eye contact.
I was in TROUBLE.
“That last round make you sweat?” he asked, his gaze moving from my face to my shirt and legs. It was a quick perusal, but I swear my skin prickled from his attention.
“Yes, it did.”
“I knew you were competitive. Hm, dare I say we make another wager?”
“At this point, I’ve lost track of how many we have going on.” My voice came out all flirty and deep, and I stared at the curve of his mouth.We almost kissed.
“Three, if we count tonight. The data versus knowing people debacle, which I’ll win. Then, the tripping count, which you’re already losing big time, and then this one.” He laughed and tugged on the end of my ponytail. “I want you to take a photo with the school mascot at the next game if I win.”
“Hell no,” I fired back. “Whenwewin, you have to do a PowerPoint presentation on your favorite number.”
