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“You could at least look like you want to win,” I whisper to my eighty-year-old friend.
She chuckles again, making her belly jiggle, and I can’t help but smile. She’s so stinking cute and the closest thing to a grandma I’ve ever had.
“You’re going down, Donovan,” Aiden taunts from across the room.
His heckling earns him hoots, hollers, and high-fives from the older gentlemen in his group. I narrow my eyes at my trivia nemesis and stick out my tongue. Childish, yes, but the alternative is flipping him the bird, and the last time I did that, the Senior Center director banned me for an entire week.
In response to my juvenile gesture, Aiden blows me a kiss.
I gasp. How dare he think that he can win me over with affection?
Reaching out, I catch the imaginary kiss, toss it to the floor, and stomp on it. And because I’m feeling extra proud, I throw my hands into the air, making them explode.
Boom!
The room erupts in belly laughs and coughing fits and…oh, shit, Mr. Delmar just lost his dentures.
“Five-second rule,” he says, picking them up from the table and popping them back into his mouth. I cringe when he gives me a thumbs-up and silently pray that someone remembered to wipe these tables down.
“I don’t know why you two get so worked up over a Senior Center trivia game. You do know that the prize is a pudding cup, right? I have those at home.”
I look at Edna. “It’s not about the pudding cup. Aiden and I have a little something more riding on this year’s trivia league.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Edna shakes her head and looks at me. “What’s at stake?”
“Three months’ worth of laundry.”
She lets out a low whistle.
“I know, right? It’s huge. Huger than huge. You know how much I hate doing laundry.”
“And it’s all riding on today’s game?”
I shoot her a look like she’s crazy. “Heck, no. Aiden’s the king of trivia. It’s best of seven. Tonight’s night seven, and we’re tied three for three.” I look around the room, wondering what is taking so long. “Why are we just sitting here?”
“Dale Pinkerton had to empty his colostomy bag,” Betty says.
“Crap. He always struggles with that. We could be here for an hour. Maybe I should go see if he needs help.”
Betty cuts a hand through the air. “No need, his wife is here today. Instead, while we wait, you can tell us about your dating life,” she says, looking way too excited. “How’s it going?”
I lift an eyebrow and reach for my bottle of water. “You want to talk about my dating life?”
“Cut a girl a break and give me the deets. I might be eighty-four, but I’m not dead.”
“Deets?”
Betty rolls her eyes. “Details.”
“Yes, I know what deets means, I’m just surprised that you do.”
“I have an eighteen-year-old granddaughter.”
“Ah.” I nod in understanding. “Okay, well, there’s not much to tell.”
But it hasn’t been for lack of trying because Lord knows I’ve been trying. Date after date. So many dates that I came up with my own algorithm. If a guy gets to date number three, I promote him to boyfriend status. I’ve had twenty-one boyfriends in the last four years, and God knows how many other duds.
“What about that new dating app you found?” Clara asks.
