it over his lap.
“So far. So good.” I am, in fact, enjoying the evening.
“Do you like red wine?”
“What’s not to like?”
“I could suggest a good Cabernet.”
“Okay.”
When the wine arrives, it’s delicious. For dinner, we both order steak. He wants his rare, and I see him attempt to camouflage a cringe when I ask for mine to be burnt to a crisp. I don’t ordinarily eat this much red meat, but we are at a steak house after all.
“What are you doing next Friday?” he asks me when we’re halfway through our dinners.
This surprises me. Is he asking me on another date before we’ve even come close to finishing this one? “I’m not sure.”
“Because a friend of mine has some extra tickets to the Red Sox game if you’d like to go with us.”
I haven’t had time to process this date yet. I’m still not sure if I’m attracted to David. I’m hoping a kiss at the end of the evening will help me to decide. “That sounds fun,” I answer noncommittally. “You’re big on Friday nights, huh?” I joke, recalling the message he left me.
“Well, all my Saturday nights are busy through Thanksgiving.”
“Oh,” I say surprised, a forkful of steak pausing on its way to my mouth.
“It’s this side business I’m involved in,” he explains somewhat hesitantly.
I nod, not sure why he would need a side business or why he seems reluctant to tell me about it.
He continues eating and I’m about to question him when he asks, “Have you heard of LARP?”
I shake my head.
“It’s an acronym for Live Action Role Playing. Does that ring a bell?” He’s watching me as he speaks, seeming to gauge my reaction.
I shake my head again. “Nope. No bells.”
“Basically, it’s an organized game. We call it “The Game” actually, my buddies and I.” He puts down his silverware so he can use his hands as he speaks. “We have a theme and a bunch of stories we use. People come every weekend to this campground we rent out, dress in costume, and act the stories out.”
I just look at him as I’m processing this. “So, “you put on plays?”
“No. Not exactly. There’s no audience. We act the stories out. Similar to history buffs dressing in period costumes and reenacting wars.”
“Oh,” I say, although I still don’t get it.
He obviously realizes this and continues patiently. “We have a specific theme for our game, although different people running other games use all kinds of themes. But ours is a medieval fantasy theme. So, people interested in that come to play our game.”
“In costume? Pretending?”
He nods.
“These are grownups running around outside in medieval costumes acting out stories?”
The sides of his mouth curve up marginally. I think he’s somewhat embarrassed, but it isn’t preventing him from telling me about it.
“And people pay you to come every weekend to do this?”
“They pay very well, actually.”
“Hunh,” I reply. If he’s raking in the money, I guess I can’t really blame him. “Do you play, too?”
“Well,” he runs a hand over his cheek. “I do. I’ve kind of been into this since college, and there weren’t really any games being hosted around here. So, I met these guys in an online LARP group and we decided to start our own game. It’s taken off far better than we ever imagined, and we have enough people signed up to run it every weekend. At least, until it gets too cold to continue.”
“Wow.” I’m picturing David running around in the woods wearing tights and a tunic with a sword at his side, and I try really hard not to laugh. But I don’t succeed well enough.
“You think it’s strange, don’t you? That’s awfully judgmental, Andrea,” he chastises, his expression serious now.
“No, I don’t.” I answer quickly, surprised by his reaction. Surely, other people have thought this is an odd activity.
He looks as though he doesn’t believe me.
“Well, maybe I do. I’m sorry for laughing.”
“You should play one weekend.” He relaxes again, picking up his fork, resuming eating his steak. “You wouldn’t even have to pay. You’ve got a connection now.”
“It’s all about who you know.” I smile weakly, not directly replying to the invitation.
“We don’t have that many women who play.”
“There’s a surprise,” I mutter.
He eyes me while he chews. “It’s not really a female thing, huh?”
I pick my words carefully. “I don’t know. I don’t know enough about it.” But I’m really thinking that it’s not a normal thing. Between the little boy voice, his reluctance to drive, and now this