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“Nurse it.” She pats my arm. “Ready?”
“I’m ready!” Dylan grabs the timer.
“Paul Mescal, Paul McCartney, Paul Rudd. Go!”
Dylan flips the hourglass down, and Allie has her answers in two seconds. Again, I’m chewing my lip.
“Rachel!” Allie fusses. “What now?”
Leaning closer, I whisper, “Who’s Paul Mescal?”
“He was in thatNapoleonmovie with Joaquin Phoenix?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t see it.”
“Normal Peopleon Hulu? About those Irish students who fall in love and have lots of sex?” I shake my head again. “He’s got a really big dick.”
“Oh my God,” Dylan snorts, taking another sip of killer grape. “He does, though.”
“Time’s up!”
“Wait!” I quickly scribble my answer. “Okay.”
“Me first,” Allie says. “Fuck Paul Mescal, marry Paul Rudd, kill Paul McCartney.”
Dylan gasps, eyes wide. “Evil woman! You’d kill Sir Paul?”
“Please. He’s had a good, long life.” She motions to me. “Rach?”
“Fuck Paul Rudd, kill Paul Mescal, marry Paul McCartney.” I squint my nose. “Just because I don’t know who he is.”
“Good call.” Dylan holds up her hand for a high five. “Paul McCartney could die at any time, and you get all that Beatles money!”
“AndI’mthe evil one?” Allie cries. “You’re devious.”
“You killed Paul Mescal, too?” I lean over to see Dylan’s sheet, but she shakes her head. “I killed Paul Rudd. He’s old, and I wanted to try some big Irish dick.”
I cackle, holding my hands over my face as I fall back on my stool. “You’re right. Can I change my answer?”
“No.” Allie scoops up the timer. “You’re up, Rach.”
“Yay!” I bounce in my seat. “Here goes: Superman, Iron Man, Aquaman.”
“Whoa.” Dylan’s brows rise, and Allie flips the hourglass slowly. “As in Henry Cavill, Robert Downey Jr., Jason Momoa?”
I shrug. “Whatever works for you.”
They both sit back frowning, and I write my answers quickly. I’m ready for this one.
“Gah, Rachel, way to shut down the game.”
I wiggle my butt back and forth in my chair, humming the melody to Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It For Me).” That’s when I notice a shadow hanging around the screen door separating the bar area from the pool area. I can’t tell who it is, but from the way my body’s responding, I can make a good guess.
“Time’s up!” I call. “Dylan?”
“That was too hard!” she whines.
“That’s what she said,” Allie snorts, leaning to the side, and I’m pretty sure we’ve all had enough purple drink.
