Page 1 of The Shared Game

One - Paisley

I breathed a sigh of relief. Other women were here. I wasn’t the only one. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been the only woman at a board game night, but I never felt as comfortable as the sole woman in a sea of men.

One man? Maybe even two or three? That was fine. But if there were nearly twenty, being the only woman could be daunting.

Not that I’d ever encountered anyone who was any trouble. Board game nerds tended to be too shy to cause any problems or launch into inappropriate flirting. It was true that many had the social skills of a leprotic hermit who’d long lost both his need and appetite for socializing, but they were mostly harmless.

I wasn’t in a position to judge, I suppose. I’d long since retreated away from the hustle and bustle of modern life, emerging from my house only to forage groceries like some timid field vole. My husband had been the social one, and with him gone, I could go days without speaking or seeing another human.

It had been six months to the day since he’d packed his bags and left at my request. I’d enjoyed the silence at first. Just me and my cat, Captain Snowball. He’d always hated the name, but if I could give an animal a military rank along with a name, I would.

With the captain curled up on my lap, I’d spent many a happy night catching up on all the shows he wouldn’t watch with me, and reading all the books that he couldn’t resist passing judgment on. It was bliss.

To my surprise, after four months I felt lonely. At month five I was researching ways to find friends, and by month six I was craving connection of any kind. I was dying to be back amongst other humans.

After much soul-searching and agonizing, I settled on joining some groups. The first in my crosshairs? Board game nights.

Board game people were my people. It had been years since I regularly attended one, but the more I looked into my local one, the more I convinced myself to check it out.

It was held at the community center. Somewhere I’d never been but always wanted to visit. It was an old converted barn from the turn of the century, and the architecture alone would be enough to get me out of the house.

I’d arrived early, as I was early for everything. Put it down to anxiety, or the fear of letting others down, but I was never late.

After beating the time the GPS told me it would take by a good ten minutes, I’d then spent an hour in my car convincing myself to get out, to enter the building. To make a move. To not be such a coward.

That nagging voice inside me that forced me out of my comfort zone, to take risks and enjoy life to the fullest, finally forced my hand to open my car door, and then it told my legs to start walking.

The smiling faces that greeted me when I’d finally opened the doors told me that the voice was right. This wouldn’t be nearly as scary as I’d built it up to be in my head. No one knew me here. No one knew that the last words I shared with another human were with a cashier. It was only a croaked ‘no thanks,’ but that still counted. At least, I hoped it did. If not, I couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to anyone.

I barely had time to take in the grandeur of the stone walls, the dark wooden slats adorning the ceiling, or the rustic charm of the large, ornate fireplace when the organizer introduced themselves with the gusto that suited someone in such a role.

I was so distracted I didn’t catch their name, the bright red glasses balancing on the tip of her nose suggesting a job in teaching or some type of administration. Without waiting for my nervous reply, they gestured to a group just setting up a game of Wingspan. Perfect. I’d played before, and wouldn’t have to endure a possibly awkward rules teach, or worse, make a rules gaffe.

“I think this game would be perfect.”

“Thanks. I’ve played it before.” I flashed a smile filled with more confidence than I had.

“I thought you might have.” With a teasing smile, they nodded toward my summer dress. It was blue, and covered in all types of birds in a chaotic, colorful print pattern.

I blushed a little at how easily she read me and sat down to play. I had to admit, things were going better than I thought.

I took my place on the oak bench facing an equally grand table next to another woman who introduced herself as Mindy. Across from us sat a man who, I had to admit, caught my eye the moment I walked in.

With a shaven head, lustrous beard, and studious dark glasses, he looked like a mixture of Viking and nerd—my exact perfect flavor of man.

The knots in his broad shoulder muscles twitched when he offered me his hand. I took it, smiled weakly, and desperately tried to ignore the flash of something awakening between my legs the second our skin touched.

“Aaron.” He smiled with the perfect blend of awkwardness and confidence. It was clear he was as nervous about meeting new people as I was, but just as eager to play a game.

“Paisley.” I pressed my lips together and tried not to think of all the things I would rather his hands be doing than shuffling cards.

I had to remind myself that I didn’t want to be hit on, and I lived by the motto ‘treat others as you would like to be treated,’ but it was still hard not to let my wandering eye stray.

It had also been far too long since I was with another man in any kind of physical way. Under one, on top of one, bent over in front of one. Aaron was reminding me of what I’d been missing with one touch of his hand and a brooding look from his ice-blue eyes.

I hadn’t enjoyed anything physical since the divorce, and even then for some time before it happened.

We’d broken up partly because our libidos didn’t align. He was never in the mood, no matter how much I tried. Sexy lingerie, putting on a show with my favorite toy, whispering kinky fantasies in his ear, watching porn together. Nothing worked.