Page 6 of Playing For Keeps

It was a joke, really. The power one pastry had over his day, over his mood, over the ability to go through another hellish week of work without walking out.

“Seriously, back off and get your hand off of me. I bought it. It's mine.” The edge to her voice should have been enough warning, would have on a regular day. He’d overstepped massively, and he must have looked like such an asshole. Sebastian dropped her arm but pressed on with his mission.

“Look, I need this pastry. I doubt you’d understand, you and your gaming friends and the frivolity you surround yourselves with. But I’ve had a week from hell at work. This was the one thing I looked forward to this weekend.” It was honest, maybe overly so.

Her frown deepened at his dismissive comment about her hobbies, slightly softened by the latter half of his statement. Perhaps it was the desperate tinge to his voice… Maybe she was just a better person than he was because she seemed to be considering it.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and he was taken aback. It was forward, but he’d crossed the line of decency when he touched her without permission.

“Sebastian.” God, he sounded pathetic. Why the hell had he given her his full name? No one but his parents still called him that. At work, he went by Ian to seem more professional. And to distance himself from who he’d been in Ohio.

He waited for the comment he’d come to expect. She was in the proper age range. It should land any moment. Only it didn’t, not a word about an animated Jamaican-accented crustacean. Instead, she reached her hand out as if to shake his, an offering of sorts. He obliged, his palm swallowing hers.

“Sebastian,” she repeated, and the name somehow felt different coming from her mouth. “I’m Farren.”

Farren… unusual, he’d never met a Farren before. She seemed to be waiting for something as well, and her features seemed to relax more with each passing second.

“Nice to meet you, Farren?” It came out as a question, his anger slowly fading, and he realized he still had her small hand clasped in his. He dropped it, as if a second longer would burn his skin.

“Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.” The tone of her voice left him uneasy, her brows furrowed as she thought about it. “Since you have some crap to say about me and my friends, and how we choose to spend our spare time… I want the opportunity to prove you wrong.”

Her face was resolute, and a twinge of guilt twisted in his stomach for being mean about it. When he opened his mouth to apologize, she lifted a hand to quiet him. “You seem like you could use some unwinding anyway.”

He couldn’t argue with it, but there was still the matter of the pastry.

“Where does the croissant come in?” he asked and was surprised to hear her laugh softly at the question.

“You’re like a man possessed,” Farren chuckled. “I’ll play you for it. I have a new game I haven’t tried, and it’ll be a good way to make this fair. If you win, you get the pastry,” she said, and it sounded easy enough.

“What’s in it for you?” Sebastian asked, doubting her kindness extended so far she’d give it away with no potential benefit.

“If I win—” She considered for a moment, and Sebastian tried hard not to think about what possible punishment awaited him for his rudeness. “If I win, you have to come back here next week and join in the game night.”

Sebastian sputtered, disbelieving. Why on earth would he have any interest in joining something like that?

“Unless you’re worried you might lose? I guess the pastry isn’t that important after all.” Her cheeks stretched with a smile, brown eyes alight with mischief. Her generous lips turned up at the corners, and Sebastian was astonished at what flashed through his mind. He pushed it aside before it could bloom, left with vague curiosity about how the pastry would taste on her lips.

“No.” The word was a whisper, choked by the sudden tightness in his throat from the inappropriate thought. “No, I’ll do it, even if it is on your terms. I’ll get my pastry,” Sebastian vowed.

Farren gave him a look, her eyes wandering over him slightly, assessing before she smirked. “We’ll see.”

Corinne gave her a pointed look, eyebrows raised in question as Farren and Sebastian walked over to the table, as if she hadn’t been hoping for this scenario in the first place. Though Farren was sure Corinne didn’t picture it happening because of an argument over a pastry. Sebastian hung back a step, one hand buried in his pocket, the other holding his order number, brow furrowed. She could almost hear him thinking.

Farren’s imagination filled in the blanks, surmising he had no idea how the heck he’d been roped into something like this. He screamed all-business with his rigid posture and the shadows under his eyes telling their own story. Even though he’d been sort of a dick, even though he made a scene in the cafe, he looked like he could use a little bit of lightening up. Farren considered it a public service. The next person he went off on might not be as understanding or gracious.

“Just grabbing my drink and this game over here,” she said, and Cute Chris handed over her takeaway cup of hot chocolate in response. She wrapped her hand around the cold tin of the Niya box.

“See you all in a bit. I’ve got a game to win.” Farren made sure it was loud enough for Sebastian to hear, unable to keep herself from teasing him.

Her friends watched, various expressions across their faces, only Braxton seeming indifferent given their newness to the group. Farren knew her friends would be ready to grill her when she came back to the table for more games later.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward a small table out of the way, against the window.

Sebastian followed without a word, dress shoes clipping against the wood floors before he settled at the table. The table and chairs were bar height, and Farren had to add an extra little jump to seat herself. Bar stools were not necessarily built for bigger bodies, but she could endure for as long as it took to beat him.

He was still scowling, his order number on the table, and Farren wondered how much of his grumpiness was his personality and how much was due to the fact that he was probably hungry. She’d find out after he ate.

She pulled out the small pamphlet inside the tin, with gameplay and rules displayed.

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