“God, you’re as bad as my neighbor, always poking and prodding me. Do I have a sign on my back that says, ‘kick me?’”
“Is he cute?” Paul asks, winking at me.
“Ugh, don’tyoustart. Yes, he’s cute. No, I don’t have any interest in him or anyone. He’s a pain in the butthole. Did you know he makes totems with my kids’ toys if they leave them in his yard? He’ll stand there at the crack of dawn in his underwear, making this strange sculpture.Weirdo. And he brings home a lot of guys, like all the time. Heck, I think I saw a woman leave his place once. Sometimes I see him coming home when I have to take the kids to school. Like, what is he doing all night? Then there’s his house. I mean, who the hell needs a house that big living all alone?”
All five men are staring at me with their beer bottles hovering over their mouths.
“What?” I ask.
“Bro, your neighbor sure has taken up a lot of your headspace,” Slade snorted.
“Tsh, no! He’s just annoying.”
“Someone has a crush,” Travis coughs into his arm.
“O-kay! Enough of the ‘let’s pick on Seth’ day. Can we play now? Sheesh.”
“You know it’s only out of love.”
I crane my head back at Edmundo as we walk into the dining room and roll my eyes.
“You know, I know a guy—” he starts to say.
“Ugh, no, Ed!”
“He’s really cute and sexy.”
“Hey! Who are you calling sexy?” Paul growls.
“Not for me. You know you’re the only one for me, baby, and you’re way hotter.”
Appeased, Paul sits at the dining table. “You better believe it.”
Edmundo looks back at me as I sit next to Paul. “So, how about a blind date?”
“No.”
If Edmundo is anything, he’s persistent. Well, he and Slade never stop. One with dating, and the other with tattoos. If I let them, I’d end up covered head-to-toe in ink and dating some guy I barely like. I’m sureI’ll eventually get talked into it because if I’m anything, I’m weak… and lonely.
The table is already set up with snacks, a deck of cards, and poker chips. We never use real money. This is purely for fun and bonding. None of us needs the money either. There are only three colored chips. White chips are a dollar, red chips are five dollars, and green chips are twenty-five. The rest of the color chips are too high, so we leave them off.
“Five-card stud?” Reuben asks.
“Sounds good,” Slade says, and the rest of us agree.
“Travis, do you want to start as the dealer?”
“Sure thing, babe.”
We all sit down and sort through our poker chips. I grab a handful of peanuts and pop them into my mouth.
Travis deals each of us one card face down and one card face up. Then he puts in the ante of four white chips.
“Paul, you have a four of clubs, the lowest card, so you decide what you want to bet.”
“Ten,” he says, tossing in two red chips.
Edmundo is next, matching the bet.
