“A shot?” Callum says. “What does that mean?”
“Well, Soccer Star, it’s a surprise. But all good things. You’ll want to take your shot.” Her brows lift, and when none of us looks convinced, she throws an arm around Stella’s shoulders. “Stella’s in,” she says.
And suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on my wife. Who I know really doesn’t care for attention.
“Um. Yep.” Stella nods. “I. Am In.” She clears her throat, her eyes on Fran, avoiding the rest of us.
I clap—hard and loud—commanding the attention of every person in our group as well as the big, burly guy at the table next to us. I ignore him and look at my teammates. “I’m in too.”
“So is Lucca,” Fran says.
“You know I am, Franny,” Lucca says. Kelli, Lucca’s date, glares at Fran as if she might be her competition. If only she knew Fran only wants Callum. While Lucca might belong to every single woman on the planet.
“You guys chicken?” I say, looking to Callum and Zev.
Zev snorts. “Uh, no. Confused, sure. Chicken, no.”
“I’ll play,” Callum says, reaching out for hisfiancée’s hand and tugging her away from Stella. He presses one kiss to her head. “Fran’s ideas are always good ones.”
“You are so completely whipped,” Rosalie tells him. “We both know that isn’t true.”
Zev chuckles beside her.
Kelli giggles—maybe she and Fran will end the night as friends after all.
“Let’s go. Rack ’em up,” Fran says, her trusty Ziploc in hand.
Callum breaks, sinking two balls right off the bat.
“Is he stripes or solids?” Zev asks.
“Neither,” Fran says. “None of that. Just try to sink a ball. If you get a shot”—she motions to the table—“then you get your shot.” She lifts her clear baggie. “Cal, you get one.” She opens up her bag and holds it out to him to choose one of the folded slips of paper.
Callum reaches in and pulls one slip out. Like a personalized Franny fortune cookie, he opens the paper and reads: “Kiss one person in the room.”
“Oo, good one,” Fran says. A low laugh escapes Callum’s throat before he presses a chaste kiss to Fran’s lips.
“What kind of game is this?” Rosalie says, her eyes wide.
Lucca whistles. “My kind of game.”
“I’m with Rosalie. What is this?” I peer over at Stella, but she doesn’t look surprised by Fran’s shenanigans. I lean my head next to her ear. “Do you?—”
“Zev!” Fran bellows. “You’re up next.”
“Ah—” He looks at Rosalie.
But Fran’s on it. “We’ve already started. Too late to back out now.”
Zev shakes his head, then sinks his shot. Fran is giddy as she holds the bag out to him. He reads his slip with ease, butRosalie’s cheeks are pink before he’s even begun. “One hug.”
On the other side of Stella, Fran moans. “I knew I should have stuck with kissing,” she whispers to Stella.
Still, Zev wraps his arms around Rosalie and hugs her tight. This is a child’s game. A middle school, I-just-realized-boys-don’t-have-cooties kind of a game.
And it’s my turn.
Stella’s eyes find me. “You’re up.”
