Page 192 of End Game

She gasps. “Et tu, Dungeon Daddy?”

“I am not participating in whatever Shakespearean defense you’re building.”

I lean forward to help him gather the deck.

Our hands reach for the same card.

Neither of us touches the other.

We both stop.

It lasts maybe half a second.

His eyes lift to mine.

There is nothing accidental in the look.

Then Cami reaches between us and steals the card.

“Mine.”

The moment breaks.

Ronan leans back while I exhale through my nose.

This man is going to kill me.

By eleven-thirty, we’ve abandoned games.

Griffin has claimed one end of the couch with Cami beside him, her legs draped over his lap while they argue about which New Year’s broadcast has the least irritating hosts.

I sit at the other end of the couch.

Ronan takes the chair nearest me, one he rarely sits in.

Again, probably not intentional.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The television shows Times Square packed shoulder to shoulder, which looks like my personal version of hell.

Cami watches with fascination. “I want to do that just once.”

Griffin looks at the screen. “Why?”

“For the experience.”

“The experience of being trapped outside for eight hours with no bathroom?”

She turns toward him. “You destroy magic.”

“I’m practical.”

“You’re a buzzkill.”

“You married me.”

She smiles. “I contain multitudes.