Violet gets a disgusting sixty-two points for her double Q-I. Fuck me gently, this is not going how I had hoped.
She only smiles sweetly at me when she announces her score. Maddeningly beautiful word-wench.
Okay Finn, that’s enough playing nice. Thankfully, I find a spot on the board for my own seven-letter word.
Should we up the ante, Violet? Something like strip Scrabble? I know she won’t go for this, but I’m suddenly desperate not to lose—desperate enough to try to throw her off her game with a little flirtation.
She almost chokes at my question. Yeah right, she says. If I didn’t know any better Finn, I’d say you were trying to distract me.
Well, she saw right through that one, didn’t she? I don’t like feeling so off-kilter. But I suppose this is good practice at being vulnerable, or some shite.
Make sure you count all seventy-seven of my points please, darling, I say, leaning towards her to watch her tally up my score. We’re tied now at two hundred and twenty-one each, but there are still tiles left to play.
And I have cards left to play, too.
So Violet, I say, and she sighs as she rearranges her letters, like she knows what I’m up to. I only grin. When your friends ask you what’s going on with us, what are you going to tell them? I motion over to the four people currently yelling at each other about whether or not the ball was over the invisible line.
I’m going to say, she answers slowly, sighing on each word like it’s a chore, That you and I really hit it off at the bar the other night and that we both really like each other.
Oh, come on Violet, I say, leaning towards her. Those bloodhounds aren’t going to buy that. You’ll have to be more specific.
More specific about what?
I wait to answer until she looks up at me. About, what, exactly it is you like about me.
She blinks at me, those beautiful doe eyes going wide. She is so lovely like this, I think, when she’s trying to unravel something in her own mind.
Penny for your thoughts? I sound as smug as I feel.
She looks back down at her letters, biting her bottom lip, moving letters around and around on her tile rack.
Ha! She says suddenly and it almost makes me jump. She lays out her tiles one by one, another fucking seven-letter word.
The doe-eyed look is gone, replaced only with a fierce, competitive smugness.
And this bloodthirsty Violet, I have to admit, I like even more.
THERE IS NO LETTING VIOLET win, or going easy on her. She beats me easily, fairly, significantly, by fifty-two points in the end.
It was the second seven-letter word, she says almost sheepishly. Hard to come back from that.
As much as I hate to lose, I hate Violet downplaying her win even more.
I lean across the table and lift up her chin, wondering about the reasons for her lack of confidence here.
You destroyed me today, I say simply. Take pride in that.
She smiles up at me. You definitely gave me a run for my money.
I keep my hand on her face because I want to, because it’s part of this other, larger game we’re playing. I want a rematch. And I’ll get it. So watch yourself.
Florence comes bounding over to our table, happy to report she and Al—as she calls him—beat Alba and Rose. Alba saunters over, looking sour about the loss, and directing her irritated gaze towards me.
I smile my most fucking pure arsehole smile.
I see you were also gubbed, Alba.
She raises an eyebrow at me. I take it that means lost?
