Page 25 of Brooklynaire

I get a plate for the cookies, and we go upstairs to the den. And maybe it’s sad, but this is the most fun I’ve had inages.

7

Rebecca

That first nightat Nate’s I eat too many Oreos and lose tragically atScrabble.

My score isn’t improved by playing the word “burp.” But I do it anyway, because I have a very juvenile sense of humor. “There should also be style points,” I say, as Nate records myscore.

“For what?” Nateasks.

“Anything cheeky. Bodily functions. Expletives. Double points for anything R-rated. Think of the marketing potential! Teenaged boys would play Scrabble instead of Call ofDuty.”

Nate snorts and begins laying down letters. “I was the teenaged Scrabble player who was always trying forpalindromes.”

“We can’t all have a dirty mind.” Then I realize it feels weird to make that joke when I’m alone with Nate on the couch in his cozy den. Guilty, I glance over at him just to make sure he knows I’mkidding.

He’s not smiling, though. His eyes are dark and serious. And—maybe I really am losing my mind—there’s an unfamiliar heat in his gaze. A split second later we both realize we’ve locked gazes in a way that isn’t normal forus.

And I feel a tug in my belly—an unusual yearning that I can’t name. Or won’t name. Meanwhile, we’re having a new kind of conversation with our eyes. His are on my mouth. Maybe it’s my head injury talking, but I could swear Nate is considering kissingme.

Me.

“Nathan, sir?” a disembodied voice sayssuddenly.

Bingley’s interruption causes me to jump, and then Nate and I both look away at the sametime.

“Ramesh would like to know if you’re in for thenight.”

He clears his throat. “Absolutely. Engage all securitysystems.”

“Systems engaged,” Bingleyreplies.

There is a long beat of silence until I speak. “So, game five tomorrow? I’m dying. We have to advance so I can see another game before it’sover.”

“We’ll advance,” he says, rearranging his tiles. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? So I don’t hit that triple word score withquixotic.” His words are as light as always. I must have imagined that we just had a weird momentthere.

“Listen, bitch,” I tease. Then I reach for another Oreo. “Do your worst. I can takeit.”

He chuckles. “Are yousure?”

“O, Geronimo! No minor ego.” It’s apalindrome.

Nate smiles at his wooden tiles as he gathers a few of them in the palm of his hand. He’s about to crush me like a bug. I can feel it. “Good to hear you making jokes over there,Bec.”

When he lifts his chin to smile at me again, whatever I thought I saw in his eyes is gone. He puts down a word that’s worth sixtypoints.

Half an hour later I yawn and concede the game. “I can’t believe I’m tired already. All I did this afternoon wassleep.”

“Good,” he says, sweeping the tiles up. “Do that again tomorrow,too.”

“I wish I was going to DC for hockey.”Just take me with you!I miss my job. I miss mylife.

“You can’t come,” he says. “If you’re there, the guys will put you to work. They’re used to asking things of you, and you’re too efficient to sayno. “

I frown because he’s right. “But I’m not sure how to pass the time. The no-reading thing is kind of tricky. And no screens? I feel cut off from everyone, and I’ve been reallybored.”

“Hmm.” Nate says. “You can chat withBingley.”