“Red.”
He plays a red four. I play a red draw-two and watch him pick up two cards. I lay down a red. He lays down a red. I lay down a green. He lays down a green. I lay down a yellow. He startsstaring at the deck the way he does when he’s thinking — the same way he does in 3B when I have given him a problem set and he’s reading it.
He plays a green five.
I look at my cards. I see his hand on the comforter holding his own hand of cards and observe the callus on the side of his right thumb. Then I play a green nine.
He plays a wild. I put a random card down. He looks at it and then plays a draw-four. I’m enjoying this quiet game time with him. It’s more thrilling than anything I’ve ever done with a boy. I love that his bed smells like clean sheets. I stare at the deck, but all I can think about is where this night is going to go.
He plays a yellow draw-four.
“Benson,” I groan. “That is not — that is not how to play this game.”
“What rules?” he grins. “Where are these rules you speak of?”
“In the box.”
He picks up the box. He opens the flap and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it. The paper is yellow with age and has scribbles in three different colors of ink along the top, reading “house rules — final.”His eyes scan it, and then he looks up at me.
“These are the house rules Stanley made years ago.”
“What a weird place to keep house rules.”
His eyes look at the bottom of the page. “Here. Stanley’s rules say wild draw-fours can be played at any time, for any reason, by any player.”
“He did not write that.”
He turns the paper around. The paper says at the very bottom, in the worst handwriting I have ever seen,Uno Rule 4: Wild draw-fours are a weapon to be used.
“This is a lawless household.”
He smiles as I draw four cards. I have eleven cards now. He has four. I play a yellow. He plays a yellow. I play a yellow. He plays a wild draw-four.
“Uno.”
I throw my cards down on the comforter.
He throws his head back and laughs in a way I have not heard him ever laugh. My entire body lights up from the sound, and I laugh with him. He falls to the side of me. I don’t think it’s on purpose because he’s just large and the bed isn’t a king. He glances down at my exposed cards, but I’m not look at his face because I notice his shirt is riding up a few inches above his pants. The muscular line of his hip is showing.Holy hell.I stare at it for a half-second longer than I need to, and then my eyes look again because I absolutely need to see this.
He’s busy looking at my deck. “Lucy. Lucy. Don’t be mad.”
“You arecheating.”
“I am playing Stanley’s rules.”
“Stanley’s rules are bad rules.”
“Stanley’s rules are the ones I’m used to.”
I notice his v-line muscle shifts, and my brain, plainly, stops.
He’s looking at me, catching where my eyes are. Heat crawls up my neck as he puts a card down.
“Your turn.”
“Yeah.” I don’t look at my cards. I look at him.
He glances up at me when he realizes I’m not going. His voice changes when he asks, “Are we still playing Uno?”
