the correct answer scores a point. Simple enough. There are eight teams here to play.
“First category is Literature and Fiction,” Tim says.
“You ready for this?” I ask, dipping a chip in the guac.
She sighs. “You sure you want to do this?”
“You mean play one of my favorite games with the hottest girl in the bar? Uh, yeah.”
Her cheeks turn red and her eyelashes flutter. Her long blonde hair looks so silky I want to run my fingers through it. Hell, I want to sweep these tacos aside, pull her up on the table, and do my best to guac her world.
Tim asks the first question. “Harry Potter attended what school?”
We both reach for the buzzer without even looking at the iPad.
Tim calls on us. “Hogwarts,” we say in unison. Our eyes meet and we both laugh.
“That was hardly trivia,” I joke, and Kourtney agrees.
“Totally,” she says. “They could try to stump us with something like, how many staircases does Hogwarts have?”
“Which is 142.”
She laughs out loud. “Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Yeah?” I smile as Tim reads the next question.
“Who was the author of Les Misérables?”
Our hands meet at the buzzer in unison again. “Victor Hugo,” we both answer, smiling. The night is suddenly turning into something more than exciting. This is fun. Plain and simple.
The rest of the Lit Fic rounds goes like that, and so do the sports questions — Kourtney impresses me with her Major League Baseball knowledge.
She shrugs, sipping her margarita. “My dad and brother always follow the Mariners,” she says.
“You close with your family?”
“It’s just the three of us,” she says. “My mom died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell her. “My dad passed when I was young, so I understand. So now it’s just Mom, my younger sister Trista, and me.”
“Both our families are the Three Musketeers,” she says.
I nod, lifting my beer and clinking it with hers. “I like that.”
The next few rounds go quickly, and we are wildly in the lead. When it gets to geography though, we both falter slightly and miss the first question.
“What is the capital city of Paraguay?” Tim asks, and he and everyone else in O’Malley’s turns and looks our way when no one else buzzes in.
I grimace. “Let’s narrow it down,” I say, looking at the multiple choice answers.
“I think it’s D. Asuncion,” she says, dipping a chip in the guac.
“You sure?”
She lifts her hands, her lips twisting. “It’s my best guess.”
She guesses right.
“How did you know that?” I ask.
“I went through a phase, planning my trip around the world.”
“Did you take it? The trip?”
She shakes her head. “No. My mom got sick and… I stayed put. Helped my dad out.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” I say, meaning it. It takes sacrifice to put the needs of your family ahead of your own.
“Final question,” Tim calls, cutting our heart-to-heart short. “Who’s ready?”
Kourtney
I look at Kaden across the table, and his eyes meet mine.
“What?” he asks, a grin on his face. He knows.
“This is just really fun. And considering how the night was going… let’s just say this is a big improvement.”
“What happened?” he asks, leaning in.
“A guy didn’t like the way I looked and left before he even said hello.”
“What a fool,” Kaden says, his eyes on mine. “He made the biggest mistake of his life.”
My cheeks burn under his gaze and I smile, feeling a warmth when Kaden looks at me that makes me think he means what he says.
Tim, the host, however, isn’t interested in our connection. He’s looking for a winner for his Trivia Night. “The final question, in honor of our Tacos and Trivia night, is, when is National Guacamole Day?”
Kaden groans. “Who would know this?” he asks just as I place my hand on the buzzer.
“November fourteenth,” I shout. Tim nods, impressed, and pronounces us the first-ever winners. He has a trophy the shape of a hard-shelled taco and he delivers it. The other tables clap in congratulations, and Kaden and I laugh.
“Let me get a photo,” Kaden says, and I reach for his camera to take one for him.
“No,” he laughs. “Of us, together.”
I lift my eyebrows, surprised he is being so sweet. Guys don’t usually ask for photos with me. “Uh, okay.”
He moves to my side of the table and we lean in, smiling for the selfie. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Mind if I send it to my buddies?”
“That’s fine,” I say, our shoulders touching, our bodies so close. “Can you send it to me too?”