Page 104 of The Difference Between

At first, I’m overwhelmed—there are so many pieces and rules—but as soon as I realize it’s a game rooted in strategy and probability, I catch on quick.

Where Gavin’s voice in my ear the first game is all guidance and advice—we lose that one—I tell him in the second game that I’ll do better without him, and it brings a shift. His voice gets lower, closer, and not a single word is about the game.

“Two crack,” I call as I discard.

In my ear: “You smell good.” He sniffs. It’s subtle, but it happens. “You always smell good.”

I swallow.

“Call,” Jan says, taking the tile.

Gavin: “I lied the other day.”

I clear my throat, and as discreetly as I can manage, I ask, “How?”

Dawn discards and says, “West wind.”

Gavin’s back in my ear, his hand higher up my thigh while the other is wrapped around my waist. “When I said I’d try to stop thinking about you. I haven’t.”

I do not react.

Carol: “Flower.”

“Call,” I say. I take the flower and display it on the rack along with three others then discard. “Five dot.”

Gavin: “I’ve been thinking of you more. Especially after that kiss.” He breathes against my skin. “Do you always moan like that?”

That’s it, I’m purring.

“Enough with the dots,” Jan mutters before taking a sip of her wine.

Gavin: “You think about the kiss?”

I draw a tile and discard.

Gavin: “You ignoring me?” His fingers slip under the hem of my shirt at my side and dance across my skin. “That’s not fair if I’m thinking about your⁠—”

I elbow him in the ribs. “I’m trying to win a game,” I whisper-snap, rearranging my tiles on the rack. “And I haven’t thought about the—” I make the mistake of glancing at him, and why does he look like that? “It.”

“Eight bam.”

Gavin’s mouth is somehow closer, his fingers gently stroking my hip. “Liar.”

I pull a joker. “Nine crack.” To Gavin: “I can’t be distracted into losing.”

His hand drops to the hem of my jeans and he tucks one finger beneath it.

Two can play this game: I arch my back and my ass slides against his lap. His breath hitches—ha!

“Sorry,” I say over my shoulder. “Cramp.”

Joke’s on me because he tightens his grip and pulls me deep into his lap—where I feel what he feels. My mouth goes dry.

Dawn: “East wind.”

“Call.” Carol draws the tile, displays her kong, then discards a six bam.

Jan calls, then discards a north wind.