“So,” he says, carefully.
There's a long silence, because even though I'd kind of planned out what to say, I've forgotten it already.
“Have you ever visited the forums on BoardGameDork Dot Com?” I finally blurt.
James just starts laughing. He takes off his glasses and scrubs his hands over his face, then messes up his hair.
“Yeah,” he says, and finally looks up at me. “Lola?”
I swallow even though my throat’s dry as the Mojave.
“Max?” I say, my voice steadier than I was expecting.
“This does explain why you didn’t want me hearing you or seeing your face,” he says.
I nod, heart beating a million miles a minute.
“I didn’t realize we had the exact same reason,” I admit. “You haven’t. Um. Told anyone, have you…?”
“Fuck no.”
“Me either.”
“The school board is, like, entirely Baptist ministers over sixty-five. They’d flip their shit,” he says, and unexpectedly, I laugh.
“I didn’t record anything!”
“Neither did I, but still,” he says, and now he’s grinning. We’re both grinning? I thought this would be excruciatingly awkward but just like everything else with him it’s… fine? Fun, even?
“Sorry I didn't come say anything sooner,” I say, the words still tumbling out too fast. “It’s just—I don't know, I haven’t ever… done anything like this before, with anyone, and suddenly being face-to-face with someone who’s seen me. You know.”
“In the throes of passion?” he suggests, perfectly straight-faced, his voice a low rumble.
“Jesus,” I mutter, and he laughs again.
“I get it,” he says. “I freaked out a little too.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. I feel like there’s a lot to say but I’ve got no idea where to start.
“This does solve a problem, though,” he finally says.
“Got tired of your hand?”
James’s eyebrows just about fly off his face as I realize what I just said. Cool, I’m bright red again.
“I wasn’t yet,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “I usually had plenty to think about.”
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not really sure what I’m apologizing for. It’s an impulse, I guess. “I didn’t mean to presume or anything. What was the problem?”
“My problem was that I had a huge crush on you but felt like I’d be cheating on Lola if I asked you out,” he says. “And that sure got resolved.”
“Same,” I admit. “I felt so guilty flirting with you and then getting in my car and text-flirting with your alter ego.”
“So how about it?” he asks.
I raise one eyebrow, unsure what, exactly, he’s asking.
“How about what?”
