Page 58 of No Headlines Please

As if reading my mind, she asked, "So, you like to play games, huh?"

23

Games People Play

Delaney

In the penthouse, Maddox grew suddenly still, as if he'd heard something odd in the distance.

I glanced toward the windows, wondering what I'd missed. When I looked back to Maddox, he was frowning.

I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's a fair question, all things considered."

The question about games? Apparently, I'd touched a nerve. I didn't understand, but hey, we all had our history. "So it's a sore subject?"

"No. It's a fair subject, like I said."

"Then why are you frowning?" I tried to laugh. "Don't tell me you have Monopoly trauma, too?"

For a moment, he just looked at me. And then he asked, "Too?"

"Sure. Everyone has Monopoly trauma." I shrugged. "Friendships end. Tables get flipped. Tiny plastic hotels become weapons..."

He blinked. "Hang on. What?"

Did he really not know? I pointed past his shoulder. "The cabinet behind you. It's got, like, two dozen games."

When he turned toward the cabinet, I gave it another look. The cabinet was big and ornate, made from carved wood and frosted glass. And even though the glass was opaque, I could see plenty of familiar board games, including the most evil game of all.

Monopoly.

Growing up, I'd played that game plenty of times – not only with Tessa or my friends, but with my parents, too.

This was before Mom's money had run out – when the idea of going broke was a source of entertainment and not constant worry. The last time we'd all played as a family, Mom had gone spectacularly bankrupt way too soon, losing all her hotels, properties, and three railroads in the process.

She had actually laughed. Back then, she'd been a better sport about so many things. Games. Taxes. Traffic. Anything, really.

Then again, losing fake money wouldn't hit half as hard.

As for myself, I'd had no concept of real money until it was nearly gone. But I'd learned soon enough as Mom became bitter and Dad became withdrawn.

With a soft chuckle, Maddox said, "So, hotels as weapons, huh?"

The question yanked me back to the present. "Tiny weapons," I clarified. "I mean…it's not like you can throw a real hotel."

He looked surprisingly intrigued. "So, who was the thrower? You?"

"Yes, actually. But in my defense, I was only six."

"Six, huh?" He cocked an eyebrow. "That's awful young to be a hotel magnate."

"No kidding," I said. "The recommended ages are eight and up."

Sounding almost impressed, he asked, "And you know this, how?"

"I checked the rules." And then, at his confused expression, I explained, "Because my mom kept teasing me about my tantrum." Actually, she'd done more than tease. Even now, whenever that game came up, she made a point to mention what a terrible sport I'd been, which really sucked, because that was the only time I'd ever pitched such a fit.