She scoffs. “Not according to my father. But I’m impressed you know that.”
I tap on my head. “Not just a bag of rocks.”
She stands, walks to the cupboard, and gets a wine glass. “I think I’ll take that drink now.”
I smile and pour her a glass. There’s a deck of cards sitting on the table, so I grab it and start to shuffle. “What’s your poison?”
“Solitaire usually.”
And that one sentence says so much about her.
“Poker?” I ask. “Or blackjack?”
She cringes.Hard.
“Okay, so you’re not a fan of gambling games. I should have known better.”
“Yeah. Not a fan. But surprisingly, it has nothing to do with religion or my father.”
When she doesn’t elaborate, more questions flash through my mind. Questions that eat away at me like a fast-moving cancer.
“How about slapjack?” she asks.
My face cracks with a grin. “You want to play slapjack?”
She slides her glass of wine out of the way. I laugh and do the same. Then I deal us each half the deck and we start flipping cards. When she practically climbs on the table to claim the first pile when a jack appears, I shift over into the seat next to her so it’s easier for her shorter arms to reach.
After she claims the second pile, she eyes me suspiciously. “Are you letting me win?”
“Keep playing,” I say, then I aggressively slap the next pile before she does. And then the next.
I want to commend her on her choice of games, because one way or another, win or lose, I get to touch her hand over and over and over. I think slapjack just became my favorite card game of all time.
We’re almost even after two more run-throughs of the cards. And we’re both getting super competitive. The wineglasses keep getting pushed further away so they don’t get knocked over. And somehow our chairs have gotten a little closer together after each playful slap.
As we dive into the next round, I run the past several minutes through my mind and I’m starting to wonder if Kenna might be flirting with me. Which is… not what I expected. We’ve shared looks. Touches. And undoubtedly some of the same emotions. But she’s never outright flirted before. Right now though, I could swear her looks linger and her touches last longer. I can’t even begin to describe how much I love it. And how I plan to do everything in my power to make it continue.
Before long, we’re both laughing hard. So hard, that at one point, Amelia comes in to see what we’re doing. I worry for a moment that she’s going to want to play. Hell, I more than worry. I’m flat out upset that whatever this is might come to an end. And as much as I love spending time with that little girl, I am not ready for what I have right now with her mother to end.
Amelia gets called back to the living room by Christian, and apparently fun with Christian trumps fun with adults because she happily trots away.Thank goodness.
Kenna takes a sip of wine then pushes up her sleeves. I remove my hoodie. We stare at each other, each of us narrowing our eyes as if we’re about to enter into an old west gun duel.
When the next jack comes up, we slap the pile at the same time. Neither of our hands landed on top of the other, they are both perfectly side-by-side, each taking up one half of the pile.
“It’s mine!” she squeals.
“The hell it is. My hand is covering more of the jack than yours.”
“No way, buddy. Your hand is larger than my hand. If you go by percentages, I have more of my hand on the card than you do. See how your pinky finger is off the card?”
“Seriously?” I laugh. “You have to be kidding.”
She stands, keeping her hand firmly on the pile while leaning over the table to put more weight on it. “I’m not giving in.”
I mimic her movement, standing and leaning in, which puts us almost face-to-face. Or more accurately cheek-to-cheek.
“Maybe you should Google the rules of slapjack,” I say.
