Page 44 of Hard to Judge

I’ve been enveloped into a whole new world. It’s soft and fluffy under my knees. The fort surrounds the coffee table. Hota’s plush couch creates a huge L and the back barrier for our little hideaway. The games, cards, and wine we brought line the table.

One by one, the guys worm their way inside. Like this fort is my heart, they slip right in—Arlo first, then Hota.

They make themselves comfortable on the opposite side of the table. Their broad backs lean against the couch. Hota’s legs sprawl in the space between the table’s end and the short side of the L, while Arlo’s slip under the table and to the right of my crossed legs.

Then I look at the stack of games in front of me. The ones Arlo packed from one of a hundred closets in his house.

“Oh no!” My panicked eyes find Arlo. He’s already keeled over laughing.

“What?” Hota’s brow hikes, and his pretty lips quirk. “What’s wrong?”

“Trivial Pursuit!” I shriek. “You guys are going to roast and toast me.” My hands are in my hair, tugging at my bun. “Why don’t you have fun games like Exploding Kittens or Cards Against Humanity? I’d even take Catan over this or that dumb headband game.”

“There’s Monopoly.” Arlo laughs.

“Will you please push him over?” I beg Hota.

With one quick palm strike from Hota to the shoulder, Arlo tips but catches himself by gripping the table.

Tears squeeze out of Arlo’s eyes. Laughter pours out of him like I’ve never seen it. He can barely catch a breath, and when he does, it’s high-pitched and hysterical.

“I’m not playing Monopoly with a billionaire and—” I make a show of looking around Hota’s home even though I can’t seeit from here. “A millionaire.” My head shakes. “Nope. No, thank you.”

Hota joins in, listing to the side.

I sigh, thoroughly defeated, and grab the only other box. It’s been taped up, and I can’t tell what it is. I only know it has to be better than the other two options. Otherwise, we’re hitting the wine and cards a little earlier than I expected.

“Yes!” I say before the box is fully open. “Prepare to be destroyed, fellas.”

“Aw, shit.” Hota hauls Arlo up by the sweatshirt. “Why in the world would you bring Clue when we’re playing against her?”

Arlo just continues to laugh.

“Did you take something when we weren’t looking?” I narrow my gaze at him, smiling my biggest smile. “Edibles? A few shots of tequila?”

“Acid?” Hota offers.

Arlo draws a deep breath. His gaze bounces from me to Hota and back. “No, I’m just really fucking happy to be here with you. Both of you.” He lets his gaze slide back to Hota.

The big guy grins, then shoves him over, succeeding this time. He laughs so hard, he folds over onto his leg, looking quite flexible for such a big guy.

While I set up the game, I soak in their joy, feeding off it like a drug.

“Okay. Okay.” Arlo wipes at his ocean-deep eyes. Their turbulence is tamed by the company he keeps. “I’m ready.” He turns to Hota. “Will you pull yourself together?”

Then he’s laughing again, falling over once more, but this time, he collapses onto Hota’s back. They laugh together, and it sounds like music. Arlo wraps his arms around Hota and tugs him close, melding his chest to the other man’s back.

Arlo buries his face in Hota’s hair and nuzzles close.

Hota’s big hand holds tight to Arlo’s forearms.

Then just as quickly as they touched, they straighten and situate in their respective seats as though nothing happened.

I smile at them both. “Here we go.”

Hours pass. Games are played. Even Monopoly, which I lose spectacularly, and Trivial freaking Pursuit, which I manage to beat Arlo, but not Hota.

The wine is opened, glasses are filled and drunk. Snacks are eaten.

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