Page 55 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Even if I bet real money? You’re dating this one, right?” He claps a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I’d say five hundred dollars would go a long way for a guy like you.”

Lucas removes the hand and returns the gesture, his hand resting easily on the short man’s shoulder. “My girlfriend isn’t for sale.”

“Not for that price, at least.” It’s not the smartest thing I could have said, but I’d rather be dumb than silent, and I’m done being spoken for and over, as if I’m not even here.

“You think you’re worth more?” He shrugs off Lucas’s hand and leans toward me.

“Depends on the terms.” My father’s voice in my head instructs me: Say less. Make them talk more.

Hermès gestures broadly, throwing his arms wide to indicate the expanse of games before us. “Love a good game of poker, I’m considered decent at pool and foosball, and I’m”—he shoots a quick, not at all sly glance at his teammates—“passable at darts.”

I’m tempted to pick poker considering Hermès seems incapable of bluffing. “Thousand dollars, whoever wins at a game I choose.”

“And your boyfriend here plays for you?”

“I’ll play for myself.”

Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see the way Lucas’s face twitches, as though I’ve rejected him. “I can wager too, right?”

I’m not sure Lucas has a thousand dollars to wager, unless he uses the prize money that hasn’t even landed yet, and which I know he already has plans for. But since it’s against my kiss, theoretically the house wins both ways. It’s a stupid thing to have agreed to, a mistake that compounds my own stupidity, but that’s a fight we’ll have to have later.

We haven’t even had a real date yet, and yet here we already are.

Lucas licks his lips, another tell. “How about darts?”

Lucas is going about this all wrong. Usually, you’d want to draw someone out, to better gauge what their strengths are. But Hermès, the human equivalent of a large intestine crammed into a fitted Gucci suit, is somehow pressing all of Lucas’s buttons.

I close my eyes.

And Lucas is letting him.

Hermès laughs, certain. “Sure. Ladies first?”

My smile is tight. “Lead the way.”

His eyes narrow, but he’s feeling too confident to get petty now. “501?”

It’s one of the most common iterations of darts: You start with a score of 501, and whatever points you land on are subtracted from there. Whichever player gets to zero first wins.

My heart sinks at the surprise on Lucas’s face. If he doesn’t know the basic rules, how will he compete? Hermès catches it as well. “Not too late to back down now. If the game’s too rich . . .”

Lucas gives a curt shake of his head. There are too many people watching now for him to back down.

Hermès goes first, his posture erect, a faint smirk twisting an otherwise perfectly unremarkable face. Lucas watches carefully, examining both his opponent and the board.

Hermès goes down to 381.

Decent.

A moment later, Lucas mirrors Hermès’s movements. Clearly, my boyfriend has played before, he’d merely been unfamiliar with the 501 variation.

Unluckily for both of the boys?

Darts is my second-best game. The bartenders and owner at Pizza Palace love seeing tourists and non-regulars lose to me. It’s become a side hustle: One of the regulars will taunt a newbie, goading them into playing the nerdy waitress who’s always studying during her breaks.

They always tell me I can keep all of the winnings.

I always buy their pizza.