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We keep playing, settling into a fun, natural rhythm.
Kyler looks great today. He's wearing a maroon T-shirt paired with light-blue jeans.
It's nice getting to know more about him, but I avoid bringing up what he told me yesterday. He's a lot more relaxed now, and the last thing I want to do is bring him down.
But I have been mulling over yesterday's revelation. I'm so close with my own family, I can't imagine losing them the way Kyler did. It makes me respect him even more.
He has every right in the world to be angry or bitter—and maybe part of him is—but he's become a wonderful, open, kind-hearted person. Everyone in the office adores him.
Everyone including his boss.
I focus back on the game. Somewhere along the way, Kyler started tallying up the wins. "That's five to me, four to you." He raises his hands in the air triumphantly, a wide smile on his face. "This calls for a celebration. Wanna drink, Mr. Hu—Miles?"
That's the second time he's called me Miles, and just like the first time, my heart trips over itself. "Uh, it's probably a little…" I look at my watch, thinking it's too early in the day to be drinking. "Wow. It's one o'clock." I glance up at him. "We've been playing this all morning."
The happiness on his face wavers. "Oh. Did you want to stop?"
"Not at all. I'm just surprised, that's all. That flew by. Tell you what, why don't I make us a food platter from what we have in the fridge and you grab some beers?"
"Sounds good."
Ten minutes later, we've shuffled the cards, and I've placed an impromptu charcuterie board on the dining table. We tap our beer bottles together and resume play.
This time, there's no conversation. I have a competitive side, and as I'm discovering, so does Kyler.
The game moves quickly. We throw cards down after each other in quick succession, so fast that sometimes our fingers brush.
My heart beats faster in my chest. It must be from the rush of the game.
The tally board keeps changing, neither one of us getting too far ahead. It's six-five to me, then Kyler nudges ahead seven-six.
We play, drink, talk, laugh, and eat cheese, whiling away the afternoon as the rain outside shows no sign of relenting.
As we keep playing, I learn that Kyler loves his job. It has crossed my mind on more than one occasion that someone as smart and with as much drive as he has might not exactly be stimulated by organizing my diary, scheduling meetings and travel plans, and running errands, but he genuinely enjoys it. "There's no better feeling in the world than contributing to someone's success," he tells me with a smile so wide I have no choice but to believe him. "I love being the man behind the man."
My cheeks flush, my mind interpreting the words literally, visualizing him right behind me, our bodies pressed against each other, his warm breath on my neck.
He asks me about my family. "My parents are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary next year."
"That's an incredible achievement." He smiles brightly. "Do you have any siblings?"
"I do. Two older sisters. One younger brother."
"Are you close?"
"Sickeningly so. We have a family FaceTime every Sunday evening."
He throws his head back, and when he laughs, I spot a flash of silver in his mouth. Hmm…a tongue piercing. I can add that to the list of new things I've learned about him. I'd never noticed that before. Makes sense. He's never laughed and loosened up around me like this.
The room starts getting dark, the wind howling against the window panes. I grab us another beer, and while I'm up, I flick on a few lamps. The game score stands at twelve-twelve.
I can't believe we've spent the entire day playing cards. Not only have the hours flown by, but I've had more fun than I’ve had in a long while.
But the best part is, Kyler seems to be enjoying himself after the traumatic day yesterday. And it's good seeing him like this, away from our normal professional setting. I've officially decided that smiling and relaxed Kyler is my favorite Kyler.
Well, hewassmiling and relaxed until about thirty seconds ago when I put down my second to last card. He drags his hand through his hair, onyx-black strands jutting out every which way. God, I'd love to run my fingers through them.
Back to the game.
