Page 9 of Consummation

Josh puts the game box on his dining room table and crosses his arms over his muscled chest—and much to my surprise, he’s not flashing a smart-ass smirk. In fact, he looks completely earnest. “You were upset we never do normal, real-life stuff like play board games—so that’s what we’re gonna do.All. Weekend. Long. You want real life? You think I’m addicted to excitement, and not to you, personally? Fine. This entire weekend, I’m gonna be every bit as boring as Boring Blane or Cameron Fucking Schulz. No booze. No weed. No poker chips. No ‘numbing the pain of my tortured soul.’”

Ah, there it is—he flashes the smart-ass smirk I was expecting a moment ago.

“From here on out,” Josh continues, “I’m all about Scrabble and Monopoly and adamantlynottrying to escape the pain of reality in any way.”

My mind is racing with a thousand emotions all at once, but the one that seems to be rising to the top of the heap isrelief. The entire plane ride to Los Angeles, I was stressed out, wondering how the heck I was gonna deflect attention away from my newfound aversion to alcohol—Iamthe Party Girl with a Hyphen, after all—and now, in an unexpected turn of events, Josh has just made club soda this weekend’s beverage of mutual choice.

“But... we’re seriously gonna playScrabble?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” Josh says, spreading the game tiles onto the table. “We’re gonna find out if we’re every bit as addicted to each otherwhen we’re playing a board game as when we’re saving the world or smoking weed or drinking martinis or fucking in a sex dungeon. I’m willing to bet anything we will be—but, apparently, you’re not convinced. So, here we go.”

“I’mnot convinced? Are you on crack? You’re the one who didn’t want me to know you’re moving to Seattle.”

“Oh my shit.Really? That’s the story you’re telling yourself inside your head? That I ‘didn’twantyou to know’ I’m moving to Seattle? That’s an interesting spin on reality—and when I say ‘interesting,’ what I mean is ‘completelydelusional.’”

I open my mouth to protest. Is he seriously picking a fight with me? We just walked into his house from the airport not five minutes ago and he’s already laying into me? Why the hell did I come all the way down here to L.A. if he’s just gonna ‘dick it up’ and not eventryto convince me he’s sorry for—

“Babe,” Josh says emphatically, cutting off my internal rant. “I didn’ttellyou I was moving to Seattle, which is a whole lot different than me ‘notwantingyou to know,’ because I’m a total flop-dick who’s scared shitless about the intensity of my feelings for you.”

My heart skips a beat.

A sexy smile dances on his lips. “I didn’ttellyou because I’m having a hard time believing feelings this intense could possibly lead to anything but a gigantic fireball in the sky that burns out as quickly as it ignites,” he continues. “But, I’ll be damned, no matter what happens, my feelings don’t seem to burn out—not at all—they just keep on blazing hotter and hotter.” He bites his lip. “Andhotter.”

If I were a cartoon character, I’d be saying, “Hummanah-hummanah-hummanah” right now. But since I’m a flesh-and-blood human, I just stare at Josh, my chest rising and falling with my sudden arousal.

Josh grins. “So don’t say I didn’twantyou to find out. Big difference. Okay?”

I nod, my eyes wide. I want to tackle him. Lick him. Kiss him from head to toe.Suck his dick. But I don’t move a muscle.

Josh settles into a chair and moves the Scrabble pieces around on the table. “Now pick your fucking tiles so we can play the game.” He picks up the directions sheet from the box and studies it while I continue staring at him like a wide-mouth bass. “It says here each player picks seven tiles,” he says.

My crotch is burning. My nipples are hard. That was the most incredible speech any man has ever given me—and he wasn’t even buzzed or high or enacting some sort of fantasy role-play when he said it.

“We’reseriouslygonna playScrabbleright now?” I manage to say. My cheeks feel hot. My clit is buzzing. All I want to do is fuck the crap out of him.

“Yup. Sit the fuck down, Party Girl. We’re gonna test my theory that you and I can have fun doing literally anything. Since playing Scrabble is my idea of the seventh circle of hell, I figure if we can have fun doing this, then I’ll have empirically proven once and for all we can have fun doinganything.And if we can have fun doinganything,then Ialsowill have empirically proven I’m not Garrett Bennetting you.” He rolls his eyes with disdain. “Which, by the way, still pisses me off that you’d even think that for a minute.”

I open my mouth to speak, but close it again.

Josh claps his hands like he’s commanding a puppy. “Now, come on, Party Girl, sit down and pick your fucking tiles. Time to get your tight little ass whooped.”

I sit down across the table from him and stare at him blankly.

“Pick seven tiles,” Josh says, motioning to the scattered game pieces on the table.

I make a face like he’s a total dork, but I do as I’m told.

After I’ve got my tiles lined up on my rack, I look up, blankly. “Okay,” I say.

Josh’s gorgeous blue eyes are fixed on me intensely. “Go ahead,” he says, motioning to the table. “Play Scrabble.”

“‘Play Scrabble’?” I say. “I’ve never played this game before. I have no idea what to do.”

“You’veneverplayed Scrabble?” he says, incredulous.

“We always played cards and video games at my house—not board games. You go ahead and I’ll just do whatever you do.”

Josh grabs the directions sheet off the table in a huff. “Well, shit. I dunno what the fuck to do—I’ve never played Scrabble, either. I thought you’d know, growing up in a real family, and all.”

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