possibly happen, I realize that I don’t want him to lose. As competitive as I am, this is one matchup that I want to lose. I want him to kiss me. I press my lips together when I realize I’m mirroring his actions, my teeth grazing the corner of my lip as well. As Zeke’s gaze draws over me, he focuses on my lips too, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing. All of a sudden I know how much he wants this and I know how much I do too. I wish we could just flip over the game and declare it a draw and pull a fire alarm so everyone else will leave. I’m done with this game, and I don’t care about the baseball shirts or choosing movies. I don’t even care about being the smarter player, shocking them all with my extensive knowledge of obscure baseball trivia.
I want to kiss him.
And so when, after a long moment, he looks at me and says: “Are you sure you know the answer to the question?” I do the unthinkable. I pause and pretend to think, count off on my fingers, and then I shake my head.
“I know it but I can’t remember.”
Which is a lie. It’s a lie. I can’t believe I’m about to lose this round, because it’s the single best trivia question I have and I know the damn answer. I’ve known it since I was seven.
“Oooooh!” the guys on the couch shout. “Busted!”
“Ask another question,” Zeke says, but his face is still, and I can’t tell if he knows.
Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe—
But his lip curls up, just the tiniest amount, and I know. I know he knows.
So I think fast to find him a question that’s just as hard. Make him work for it. “Who is the only player to have hit two grand slams in a single inning?”
It’s only because I’m watching that I see what happens. His eyes widen and his smile inches slightly higher and then drops. “Drat,” he whispers, but I can see the curl of a smile that nobody else is seeing.
“Come on, man, you know this. You know this.” The guys are chanting Zeke’s name and he’s trying to shush them, but it’s all an act and I love it. I love that he’s raising the stakes and lowering them again.
I pinch my lips together because like Zeke, I’m a lousy poker player.
“Well, I don’t think it’s Nomar Garciaparra because I don’t think he hit more than one, though I’m quite sure he’s the only one to do it at home.”
“And yet, that’s not the question,” I tease, trying not to let my smile out. “Um, Stephie, isn’t there a time limit to all this?” It’s a game and we’re playing it together. It’s us against the lot of them.
I wish I could take his hand across the table.
“Um, thirty more seconds, Zeke!” Stephie says, not looking at her watch. Instead, she snakes her arm through his like she can offer him support.
Poor Stephie.
Zeke frowns and shakes his head sadly. And for a moment I wonder if his goal is to let me win like I let him win, and I feel the panic rising. No, no. I don’t want to win. Not now.
“I wish I knew for sure,” he starts. “I’m going to have to guess. So maybe . . .”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Zeke—
“Fernando Tatis.”
He hesitates, like he doesn’t know that it was the right answer. There’s a moment of silence as his teammates trust the final arbiter, the internet.
But I stop them, my eyes locked on Zeke’s. “Yup.”
His smile is finally authentically his. It widens into a true grin. “Really?”
And I have a feeling the question isn’t so much about the inane piece of sports trivia he got right, but a different question altogether.
“Yes,” I say, but what I’m really saying is, Yes, Zeke, I do want to kiss you.
The girls behind me are grumbling and gathering their coats but they don’t begrudge me the loss. They know they couldn’t have answered half those questions. “Well done,” one says, patting me on the back, but my eyes are still on Zeke. Stephie squeezes his arm but he isn’t paying attention to her.
After the requisite back slaps and cheers, the place starts to empty and still Zeke and I stand across the table from each other, the scarred wood separating us.
Stephie holds out her hand to Zeke, her bright nails hurting