To my surprise, she nods. “A hummingbird on my left shoulder blade. My second-biggest drunken mistake.”
“Aw, does that make me number one?”
“Sure does.”
I put a hand to my heart. “I’m honored.”
A dude by the stage catches my eye and waves us over—the newlywed game is about to begin. Eleanor sees him, too, and puts a hand on my chest to keep me from moving.
“One last question.” Eleanor’s eyes flicker between mine. “Who told you about my meeting?”
I didn’t expect her to let this go. If anything, I’m surprised it took her this long to ask again. I should’ve been ready for it, should have some coy, snarky answer all teed up.
In spite of all this, the question lands like a gut punch. Unlike this morning, evasiveness no longer comes naturally—I’m more inclined to tell her and offer up an apology. But I already know what her reaction would be. I know it would only remindher that a handful of hours ago she didn’t trust me at all, didn’t want anything to do with me.
I should tell her anyway. But I’m stubbornly unwilling to lose the ground I’ve gained.
Her eyes narrow, and I can see in her expression that she doesn’t actually expect an honest answer to come. So I take the out.
“Nice try.” My voice is hoarse, and I cover it with a smirk that feels foreign on my lips. “Come on. Let’s go win this thing.”
CHAPTER ELEVENELEANOR
The Ryan Seacrest comparison Mae made is not off base, but as I get a closer look at the MC, I decide he reminds me more of the Ken doll Iris and I had when we were little. Jonathan’s hair has so much product in it, it looks like a hard shell, and he’s wearing a periwinkle suit jacket made of some kind of fabric that glitters in the afternoon sun.
“You must be Eleanor and Adam,” he says when we join the group. We shake hands, and he immediately launches into the setup of the game, distributing cue cards and a black marker to each of us.
The rules are all pretty straightforward, so I mostly focus on taking deep breaths and blocking out the sidelong glances Adam keeps sending me. I can’t tell if he’s nervous, or if he just knows I am. Either way, his constant attention isn’t helping.
Six deck chairs are situated on the stage. Jonathan directs Adam and me to the pair on the far right, tucked close to each other but angled in a way that will make it near impossibleto see what’s written on each other’s answer cards. I sit down and fiddle with the Sharpie I was given, flicking it back and forth between my fingers.
“You all right?” Adam asks in a low voice.
I still my hand and nod. “Yeah. It’s like a game of trivia, right? I’m great at trivia.”
Granted, usually the trivia I participate in is more focused on pop culture than Adam Shaw’s personal life. But my competitive streak is surfacing all the same.
I find myself thinking of Iris, my trivia partner of choice. I wonder how well she and her fiancé, Eric, would fare in this game. They’re the sort of couple who immediately switched to “we” statements, who keep no secrets from each other and share to the point of it being sort of gross—like, I would not be shocked to find out they use the same toothbrush—so chances are, they’d do pretty well.
Adam reaches over and rests his hand on the back of my neck. I’m surprised by how not-annoying I find the gesture. How much I like the grounding weight of his palm. I stifle a little whine when he withdraws his touch a moment later.
Everything would be so much easier if Adam were consistently an asshole. Instead, he’s a part-time asshole, and then he sneaks in these moments of wit and insight and thoughtfulness. What am I supposed to do with that?
On the one hand, he’s sworn that coming to Vegas and going after Dempsey isn’t personal, and I’m inclined to believe him. We’ve established he’s just as competitive as I am, and it is, after all, a cutthroat industry. I’ll even admit my anger toward him about Maya was misplaced. Blaming him was an understandable if knee-jerk reaction, but I’m the one who let her walk.
The thing is, though, why won’t he tell me who tipped him off about last night’s dinner? It’s not like there are all that many possibilities. Why can’t he fess up already so we can move past it?
Adam catches me looking at him, and I shift my gaze straight ahead, picking out details of the so-called audience, which amounts to a handful of people who are being subjected to this farce while they try to enjoy the pool. One woman in particular catches my eye because she is wearing the most complicated, gravity-defying swimsuit I’ve ever seen in real life. It’s mostly composed of straps, and I can’t make sense of how she got into it, never mind how it’s staying put while she swims. Then there’s a man with a waxed chest who is applying some kind of oil all over himself, and I’d be willing to bet the entirety of my admittedly sparse bank account that he will be leaving here today with a nasty sunburn. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I’m mildly comforted by the knowledge that I won’t be the only one coming away from a trip to Vegas worse for wear.
Finally, Jonathan grabs a microphone, which—good lord—is bedazzled with crystals that glimmer when the light catches it, and welcomes everyone to the game. After a quick introduction of each couple, he poses the first question:
“Okay, this one is for Harvey, Danny, and Adam. Please write down your most prized possession.”
Adam thinks for a moment, then scribbles down his answer. And I have… no earthly idea what it could be. Jonathan starts on the other end of the stage, which at least gives me a moment to think. Absurdly, I keep hoping Adam will meet my gaze so he can prove his little wavelength plan worked, and telepathically tell me his answer.
I don’t hear Harvey’s answer, or whether Chris gets it right. I’m vaguely aware of Tess correctly guessing that Danny’s prized possession is his state football championship ring—which feels so on the nose it’s no wonder she got it right. And then it’s my turn.
“Uh…” Beside me, Adam is clutching his answer card close to his chest. My gaze lingers on his wrist—or rather, the watch wrapped around it. It certainly seemed important to him earlier. “His watch?”
