Page 49 of Playing for Keeps

Grace gave me a hug. Simon blew a dramatic kiss. Max was already half-standing when I turned to him. “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” I told him, while I looked at him a little longer than I intended.

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice.

After combing through a mountain of coats, I finally found mine. Hearing that the music had been turned up in the living room, I almost wanted to go back in, but I decided against it. The early flight was going to be brutal enough. I was about to take the lift down when I realised I had left my scarf somewhere inside. Toronto in January without a scarf sounded like the worst idea imaginable. I sighed and headed back. Fortunately the door hadn’t closed behind me yet. Maybe I could just sneak back in and find it without interrupting the game. Then I remembered – I’d left it in the living room.

26

MAX

People were always shocked by Will’s penthouse, expecting a typical bachelor pad but finding instead a modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows, warm oak floors and minimalist furniture. The kind of place that caused you to reconsider all of your preconceived notions about Will.

Tonight, however, the penthouse was transformed, with the usual signs of a decent party: empty bottles on the kitchen counter, a tower of pizza boxes on the coffee table and music that was normally low enough to talk over but loud enough to make you feel less self-conscious about talking. Now, though, Bob Seger was blasting through the speakers.

Grace and Bridget were sitting at one end of the sectional with ginger ales in their hands and laughing so hard they kept spilling their drinks. The reason for their outburst? Seth, who had convinced a couple of other teammates to help him with his dare: re-enacting the Risky Business dance scene. He was doing a pretty good job, but he still looked ridiculous. Even Simon, normally cool and collected, was clapping along and laughing his head off.

Emma had taken a cab earlier, leaving her blue scarf hanging over the back of the couch where we had been sitting. I could still feel the weight of her legs resting on mine and the warmth of her body leaning in. That was what undid me: she hadn’t even thought about it. The way she had settled, without thinking about it, unconsciously trusting me to be the thing she leaned on. And God, I had noticed every detail. The faint brush of her knee against my thigh when she moved. How right she had felt, laughing with Simon about salsa nights and making Will butcher the word chiaroscuro until everyone in the whole room was laughing. My hand had been itching the whole damn time to move – to rest over her shin, her knee, something – just to make the moment seem more than a coincidence. And I hadn’t wanted her to be anywhere else.

“Your turn, Finn,” Will said, dealing two cards from the deck like he was running the world’s most chaotic poker game. “Truth or…

“Dare,” I said automatically. I had been saying ‘dare’ since I was twelve and trying to act like the bruises were from hockey and not from home. Dares are simple: you either do it or you don’t. Truths are more complicated.

I flipped the card over.

Kiss for 20 seconds the person you’ve been wanting to kiss.

I barked out a laugh which sounded too loud in my own ears. “Of course that’s the one I pull now.”

“Now?” Simon echoed, with one eyebrow raised.

Will was already looking for his phone to set the timer.

Bridget leaned forward, her smile sharp. “Well, look at that, fate has a sense of humour.”

Grace didn’t say anything, but she tilted her head, and looked at me with that strange X-ray vision she’s had since I was a kid, like she could hear the extra beats when something wasn’t just a joke. I kept looking at the card as if staring would change the words. It didn’t.

Fuck. Just my luck.

They all jumped in at once – laughing, teasing, and shouting out suggestions. Someone said “Bridget, obviously,” and she laughed a little too loudly. The card was like a heavy puck in my hands. I could forfeit. Will’s rules meant you could bail and take a punishment. Usually, this meant taking a shot of something that shouldn’t be legally sold as a liquid. I’ve taken hits to the collarbone that hurt less than those shots.

But mostly, I couldn’t think about forfeits because there was only one person the card meant. Only one person it had meant since a woman with green eyes and a British accent told me I was arrogant and somehow made me want to be better just to annoy her. If I kissed anyone else on a dare, it would be a lie; if I didn’t kiss anyone, the whole room would still know the truth because I am many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. My face has always been a traitor.

“Or you could kiss the host,” Will said, fanning himself with a card. “I’m very giving.” There was laughter all around.

I sat there too long, holding the card between my thumb and forefinger, trying to make the clock go back; then, all of a sudden, Emma appeared back in the living room. “Sorry,” she said. “I left my scarf…”

In my head, every sound in the room changed pitch. The music faded away, and Will’s running commentary blurred. She wasn’t looking at me; she was scanning the armchairs. I was already on my feet, before I could change my mind.

“Where you going, bud?” Will called, grinning.

“I need you for a dare,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake as I looked at Emma.

“Is it going to take long? My taxi is waiting.”

“Just twenty seconds.” I held up the card, as if the words on it could help me explain what I couldn’t.

She took a step toward me, curious and a little cautious. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

I gave her the card. She read it, then looked up at me. I swallowed. “That’s you,” I said, honest because there was no point being anything else. “If that’s okay.”