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“I reckon no man likes it when his woman beats him at something,” Bonnie says. “At least, Boone don’t like it when I do it to him.”
Should I tell her Brooklyn isn’t my woman? Also, why isn’t Brooklyn herself issuing the correction?
“You never win at anything,” Boone grumps.
“Is that right?” Bonnie turns toward her husband. “Was it you who predicted last month’s NASCAR race?”
“You got lucky.”
Bonnie’s eyes turn into slits. “What about the one before that?”
“The winning driver was your cousin,” Boone says—and, thankfully, he turns onto my driveway.
As Brooklyn and I leave the car, Boone and Bonnie get into one of their famous screaming matches.
“I guess this is me.” Brooklyn nods at her rental.
“Sure,” I say. “Unless… we play that game you owe me.”
Brooklyn’s eyes glint excitedly. “You’re on.”
We rush inside and I set everything up on the kitchen table as Brooklyn goes to “powder her nose,” whatever that means.
Harry clickety-clacks up to me and sticks his wet nose into my leg.
Human dude. You’re back. Some munchies would be greatly appreciated.
As I get the food ready for Harry, Sally rubs herself on my leg.
Our evil captor should know, we escaped this horrible palace earlier today, but then returned, in case tonight is the night that the tomcat-in-shining-armor rescues us—and vivisects you.
I give Sally her food too, then turn and see that Brooklyn is already sitting at the table.
“Care to make your rematch more interesting?” she asks.
I arch an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”
“Two words.” Brooklyn hiccups. “Strip Scrabble.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brooklyn
Evan’s blue-green gaze is the ocean before a storm. “You’re on.”
Does he mean ‘turned on?’ If so, how did he guess that I am? In my defense, our not-date was so hot even a nun would need new panties at this point… unless they don’t wear any.
“A piece of clothing per game?” Evan asks. “Or when we reach a certain score?”
“Both,” I say. “But let’s play with extra tiles so we can make longer words. Also, let’s put a time limit on the game—whoever has the highest score when the timer goes off wins.”
“Anything else?”
I throw a few more rules at him until the game is almost exactly like how I usually play it—but I don’t tell him this part. If there were such a thing as a Scrabble lawyer, I’d make a good one. Oh, and this gives me an idea: I should look for a way to use the word "jurisprudential" in this game, if I get the chance.
“Okay.” He fishes a tile from inside the tile bag and then offers the bag to me.
I get an E to his A, so he is the first to go.
