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She doesn’t seem impressed with my skills, but for some reason, that only makes me want to try harder. For what or to gain what, I don’t know.
“The game is called Toenails,” she announces, grabbing the cards from my hand. She sounds a little like a bored Vegas card dealer. She rotates to face me, sits cross-legged, bunches up her dress so it’s out of the way, and leans forward so the long couch cushion can act as a table for the cards. She spreads them out face up, rearranging them as she tells me the rules.
It seems simple enough, if not a little addictive. We start the game and every time something happens in my favor, she gives up a yelp or a snicker.
“You’re just bummed that I’m so naturally gifted at this game,” I say, after she screams a long and tortured “Noooooo!” when I go up several points.
“It’s ninety-five percent luck, Theo.”
“Well, that last five percent, that’s all me, baby.”
She giggles and hiccups and smacks her mouth with both hands. I laugh and she throws her head back, her gaze on the ceiling.
“I never lose at this game,” she says with an over-the-top whine.
“Oh, I get why you wanted to play it.”
“It’s not that. It’s my favorite.”
“But you want to beat me so bad you can taste it.”
“Yeah. And it’s fun to see your tells.” She challenges me with a look.
“My tells?”
“You sniff right before you lay down a good card.”
“I do? Man. No wonder I’m terrible at poker.”
“If you’re terrible at poker, it’s only because your face is so animated that it’s clear what you’re thinking every second. You can’t hide anything.”
“Really? You think you know what I’m thinking?” I try to keep a neutral face, but Aria’s grinning so hard that I start to smile, too.
She studies me. “You’re regretting the burrito you ate for dinner,” she says, moving to poke my stomach with her finger.
I capture her finger before she reaches me. “I didn’t eat a burrito for dinner. I had a sensible salad,” I insist. “And okay, a few slices of bread.”
“Fine. You’re thinking this is the greatest game known to man.”
I shrug. “Okay. I’ll give you that.”
“And you’re also feeling scared that I’ll win.”
“I’m way up. I’m not scared I’ll lose.” Releasing her hand, I grow serious and clear my throat. “What else am I thinking?”
She puckers her lips. Not to kiss, of course, but because she’s deep in thought. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about what it would be like to kiss her. For a very long while.
“That this has turned out to be a really great night? That’s what I’m thinking, anyway.” She ducks her head, running a finger along the fabric of the sofa.
“Nice powers of deduction, Aria. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Thank you for helping me not feel so alone,” she says.
“Well, thank you for understanding why Christmas is hard.”
An hour passes and we each win two rounds. With a laugh, she stands.
“I’d better go.”
