Round 5

F or the next few days, I third-wheeled Shaun and Neema more than usual to avoid my incessant overthinking. However, watching them adore each other was counterproductive, fueling the thoughts I’d been denying.

And when I wasn’t thinking about Patrick, I was thinking about my Board-Game-in-Progress.

Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing either.

I rubbed the growing ache between my brows.

“How are you holding up?” Neema asked, taking the other end of the couch and curling her legs underneath her.

“It’s only a week.” I shrugged, breaking eye contact.

“I miss Neema after a day.” Shaun walked by and patted my head as if I were a dog. “Remember when I went on that hike and you had to deal with her?” He sat on the other couch and turned on the TV.

“Oh, I’ll never forget.” I laughed. “For three weeks, she practically followed me into the bathroom.” It was the summer when Neema bought us matching vibrators. I returned mine—in the packaging. “You were so horny, it was ridiculous!”

Neema stretched out her leg and poked me with her toe. “Three weeks of no sex is nothing to joke about.”

I chuckled, though I wasn’t sure she was joking. Was three weeks really that long? I had no idea what was normal because I’d only ever been with Patrick. Before I could stop myself, I asked, “What’s the longest you’ve gone without…” I hesitated and glanced toward William and Shaun.

William was in his corner and was scolding into his headset with a game of DoTA across his screen . And Shaun was scrolling through his drum and bass collection.

“… without being intimate?” I whispered the last words. My cheeks flushed at saying it out loud.

Neema, my sex-positive best friend, teased me. “Dear girl, I am a virgin flower, only to be plucked on the eve that I have been wed.”

Shaun spun toward us. “What now?”

“Never mind. I hate both of you.” I dropped my heated face into my hands.

“It was those three weeks,” Neema said, looking at Shaun.

He nodded and pinched his mouth up on one end. “So, how long’s it been?”

I covered my face and curled over the cushion I held, embarrassed about discussing it and embarrassed at my answer.

“Out with it. A month? Six months? Are you still a virgin?” Neema gasped. “Have you been lying about sex all this time? I could believe it. No one who is having sex hides behind their hands while talking about it.” She pried my fingers away from my eyes.

“Three months,” I blurted louder than intended. “And it will be three months and one week by the time he gets back.”

William, who’d finished his game without my noticing, spun around in his chair and faced us. As he crossed his arms over his wide chest, his lips tipped up in an amused smile. “So Perfect Patrick isn’t that perfect after all.”

“No one invited you into this conversation, William,” I snapped, wanting the couch to swallow me. I’d live inside it with the lost coins and other things that didn’t have a place in the world.

Dramatic? Maybe a little.

He ignored me. “But what about hand stuff… or foot stuff, if you’re into that—no judgment.”

His smug grin and deep dimple gnawed at my insides. I threw the cushion at him and with the familiar urge to one-up him said, “You’re not even in a relationship.”

He caught it and smiled wider. “I’m actually off to pick up my date.”

He stood and grabbed his keys, spinning the ring around his middle finger. Until this point, I hadn’t noticed that, instead of his usual oversized hoodie and pajama pants, he wore black jeans with a fitted T-shirt that—and here’s the shocker—was ironed. His tan, sculpted arms took me by surprise.

Noticing my eyes on his biceps, he flexed. He ran a hand through his black hair, but it did nothing in the way of taming it.

“Poor woman,” I sniped.

“Oh, don’t pity her. She’ll be having a really, really good night.”

I scrunched my face in disgust, and he replied with a cocky wink before leaving.

He was the most insufferable person who had ever existed.

The next game night took forever to come around. It was Claire’s turn, and she chose one of my favorites: Balderdash .

Apparently, William’s date had bailed on him so we had the pleasure of having him rain on our parade by “reluctantly” joining our game. One day he’d admit he enjoyed it, but today was not that day.

“What is the definition of the word ‘spifflicated’?” Lincoln asked, scratching the dark stubble on his cheek while he waited for us to write down our made-up definitions.

Lincoln was a genius, and playing this game with him was always ultraembarrassing because, nine times out of ten, he knew the actual answer.

We scribbled our meanings, and something weird in my peripheral vision caught my attention—William’s dimple was on show. He was smiling, and I couldn’t figure out why.

I slid my sheet toward Lincoln. He stuck it into the pile and handed me one of his mother’s homemade nankhatai cookies before shuffling the answer sheets.

Pushing his glasses up his straight nose, his expression in a perfect poker face, Lincoln read the first card. “Spifflicated: When you’re caught in the act of pretending to be wealthier than you actually are.”

That was my answer. And I was proud of it.

He continued. “Spifflicated: Being drunk.”

Probably Shaun’s.

Lincoln pulled the next paper and pressed his lips together. The corners of his mouth twitched as he held back an obvious grin. “Spifflicated: When a woman is deprived of satisfaction and becomes crankier than usual.”

If looks could kill, William and anyone in his immediate proximity would explode into smithereens. Since that conversation, William had teased me about my love life, or the lack thereof, whenever he found an opening. It didn’t help that I knew he had a line of women always waiting on him.

Shaun gave William a shake of his head.

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you like this?”

I’d told Claire about the conversation she’d missed, and sadly, she could relate. She’d reassured me that plenty of people go through dry spells—even after marriage.

“Fine, fine, fine.” William raised his hands in surrender.

But I only huffed in his direction.

For the rest of the game he managed to identify my answers and send all his points my way. And I think he did it on purpose.

I didn’t care. I took the win, and as soon as the game ended, I escaped to their large balcony, hoping the familiar city lights could put me at ease. It was weird having a place be familiar after the upbringing I’d had, but San Diego had wiggled itself into my heart after just one Comic-Con.

Behind me, the door opened, and William’s footsteps approached. I didn’t need to confirm it was him—his pine and lavender scent reached me before he did.

“You still mad about the joke?” he asked, fidgeting with the strings of his gray joggers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? On one of your dates?”

“Jealous?”

I glanced upward to catch his smirk. His eyes were light. He wanted to play . Everything was a game with him. Everything was a joke.

“I’m not in the mood, William. Go away.”

“Go where? I live here.” He leaned his hip on the balcony rail.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Fine. I’ll go.”

He jumped in front of me. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.” His eyes searched for mine, but I avoided his gaze. “Come on, admit it. You’re crankier than usual. You don’t laugh at any of my jokes anymore.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not funny.”

“Hobbit,” he said, and I knew he was trying to get my attention. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think it would actually upset you. We do this thing, and… I…” He hesitated, scrunching up his face. “I took it too far, and I won’t do it again.”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d have teased him had the roles been reversed. William and I were usually doing one of two things, making fun of each other or having fun together. Although we’d never admit the latter.

I spun toward the railing once more and wrapped my hands around the cold metal. “Hobbits aren’t very sexy.” I breathed out, my eyes prickling.

“What?” he asked, his voice thick and distorted as if he needed to clear a bug from his windpipe.

I wasn’t mad at him. I was just…

“Nothing.” I brushed off the thought before I could dissect my withering self-esteem with William Ashdern. Making my way to the door once more, I paused and retreated into the safety of the game I knew how to play with him. “Perhaps when Perfect Patrick returns, I’ll start feeling Merry again.”

I stepped into the apartment and waited for his laugh—a hobbit reference should do the trick. But a quick glance over my shoulder showed me nothing but frown lines where I expected his ridiculous smile.

That night, I read and reread my assignment, typed a couple of paragraphs, read it once more, opened my browser, got distracted, checked my emails, added items to my wish list, closed the browser, and read my assignment—again. Rinse and repeat to infinity and beyond until my vision was blurry.

My chair rolled backward, and a loud crack echoed through the air. My heart froze—without looking, I knew. I knew what I’d crushed, and exactly what I’d find shattered on the floor.

A glance down proved me right, as sand from the Board-Game-in-Progress sunk into the soft carpet. Even though I hadn’t worked on it in years, I dropped to my knees hoping I could salvage it. It was only one piece—the timer, easily replaceable, but my mom and I had made it together. Now all the broken bits of me were scattered all over the rug.

Cutting my finger on the sharp glass, I snapped upward. The bright red blood made my head spin. I hurried to the bathroom and rinsed my finger under cold water before assessing the damage. A Band-Aid should do the trick. I walked into the lounge where Shaun and Neema were going through her wedding Pinterest board. Catching a look at my hand, Neema stopped me and investigated.

“So, what time are you seeing Patrick tomorrow?” She studied the cut and then walked over to the kitchen where we kept the first-aid kit.

“Uhm, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “He said he’d let me know.”

She noted the lack of enthusiasm in my voice with a deep inhale. But was it worth being excited? Would Patrick come over or go straight to work?

Neema returned and wrapped up my finger. “I know!” She clapped her hands together, her eyes wide with mischief. “Seduce him! You’ve been together for years. Maybe it’s time to spice things up.”

“Seduction? Have you met me?” I gestured to the Chewbacca onesie I wore. “Not a strong point. Bad idea. Bad friend.”

Neema ran to her room and returned with a beige Burberry trench coat. “Okay, hear me out. He’s tired, he’s stressed, but you love each other. So make it easy for him.” She put the coat on me as if I were a doll and tightened the belt. Staring down her long, straight nose, she lifted her brow. “You have a great waist and an excellent rack. Show up at his office wearing this, minus the onesie, and those shoes that I got you for your birthday that you haven’t worn.”

I shook my head. “I can barely walk in those.”

“But it gives you that lift and makes your calves look amazing.”

I shook my head again. “I don’t understand.”

Neema walked over to Shaun, who was now rummaging through our kitchen cabinets in search of some Earl Grey.

Splaying herself across the counter, she spoke in a low, sultry tone. “Good evening, Patrick. I have a delivery for you.” Pretending to open her nonexistent coat, she turned to me and beamed. “You’re the delivery!”

“No. No. No. Absolutely not.” I was dizzy with the rate my head swung from side to side.

The goofiest smile appeared on Shaun’s face, but there was something in his gaze that struck me.

Desire.

A gnawing ache clawed at my chest. I wanted someone who looked at me like that. I needed it.

Shaun bit his lip, and Neema leaned in, nearly kissing him before spinning to face me. “You see? Now he’d do anything I want.”

“Anything,” Shaun echoed.

“It’ll be great,” she promised. “I’ll pick up some lingerie for you. I know you don’t have any.”

I was not going to argue about that.

Leaving Neema and Shaun to complete the fantasy they had started, I went to bed. In the safety of my duvet cocoon, I stared at the coat strewn across the back of my chair. My cheeks heated at the mere idea of it.

But that desire.

I was going to do this.

It was going to work.