“You wrote it very confidently.”
“You’re gross.”
“You like me.”
“Publicly, apparently.”
His hand slid to my knee under the table, warm and casual, and I let it stay there.
By Mythology or Florida, the loaded fries were mostly gone, Easton had eaten four mozzarella sticks with the focus of a man who had survived athletic suspension and needed dairy reinforcement, and I had ordered a second Red Flag despite Easton’s very judgmental eyebrows.
He had traded his water for a beer halfway through the second round and was nursing a second one now, slow enough that I knew he was still thinking about the drive he would not be making and the trouble he could not afford.
The host grinned into the mic. “Final question before scores. Mythology or Florida? A man claimed he was possessed by Zeus after stealing a swan-shaped paddleboat from a resort pond.”
I pressed both hands to the table. “Florida.”
Easton frowned. “Mythology.”
“Easton.”
“A swan and Zeus is myth-coded.”
“A stolen paddleboat is Florida-coded.”
“Possessed by Zeus.”
“Resort pond.”
He looked at the answer sheet. “We need this point.”
“Then trust me.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
Something passed between us, warm and ridiculous and too big for a trivia sheet.
He handed me the pencil.
I wrote Florida with a flourish.
The host slapped the clipboard. “The answer is Florida, and the resort has since banned men named Gary during spring break.”
I threw both arms up.
Easton stared at me like I had just solved a murder.
I pointed at him. “Trust the process.”
“You said resort pond like it was evidence.”
“It was.”
“I’m weirdly turned on.”
“You should be.”
He laughed, and it hit me straight in the chest.
