He grabs the bottle of liquor and says, “I brought it in here in case you want to play spin the bottle with the right guy this time.”
I blush. “Really funny.”
He laughs, putting the bottle back down. “Offers on the table.” He looks down at his collection. “Do you want to play any of these?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Sure, yeah. Uno.”
He grins over his shoulder, placing the deck of cards and dominoes back in the drawer. “You’re about to get schooled.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
He sits cross-legged on the comforter and tosses the deck onto the bed between us. He pats the spot across from him. I fold my legs across from him with my knees almost touching his. The bed is queen-sized, and it’s appearing much smaller with him on here. He shuffles the deck.
“Are you drinking?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
“You didn’t have a drink at dinner tonight with your parents?”
“No.” He shakes his head quickly with a light huff. “My parents would never allow that.”
I nod, feeling a bit frightful that we’re both sober. Not that I want to be drunk. I guess it takes off the pressure, so I’m grateful.
He deals seven cards each. He flips the top card of the draw pile face up. It’s a blue six.
“You go first.”
I lay down a blue four. He drops a blue skip onto it without any commentary, and then a blue six. I lay down a blue draw-two and watch as he tries not to smile and fails. He picks up two cards. He fans them into his hand. He plays a blue nine. I have one more blue card. I lay it down.
He plays a wild and looks up at me. “Pick.”
“You’re supposed to pick.”
“I want you to pick.”
I know he’s only playing it because he doesn’t have blue. “Blue.”
“Lucy.” He clicks his tongue. “Why are you doing this to me?” He picks up from the pile. One card. Two, three, four. He groans. He finally picks up a blue card and plays it. It’s a blue five.
I place a yellow five down.
“Ooh,” he says, pursing his lips. “You did me dirty.”
I hold the cards up to my face as he plays a yellow seven. Then, on his next turn, he plays a yellow draw-two. Then, on the turn after that, he plays a yellow skip and watches me sit there with no yellow cards and a face that tells me he is enjoying this way too much. I draw three cards out of the pile. I get one yellow and lay it down. He plays a wild draw-four.
“Benson.”
“Pick a color.”
“You know you’re supposed to choose the color, right?”
He looks at the card. “I think we play Uno differently. Choose a color, babe.”
My eyes flick up to his. He smiles widely.
“What color?”
I look at my deck. “Red.”
