Page 41 of Rookie Season
I’m eager to keep our conversation going, so I say, “Whenmy dad first started dating my mom, he kept trying to impress her with his cooking so he made all this terrible Thai food. Like it was totally inedible, all mushy with weird flavors that were decidedly nothing like actual Thai food. And I was so desperate for them to stay together, for him to be my new dad, that I would pretend to like it and force myself to eat his awful cooking.”
“I can’t picture you eating anything but those bagged frozen foods you live on.” Noah smiles, then leans forward a little. “I know you call Carter Callahan ‘Dad’—which is still wild to me—but what about your biological dad?”
“Some asshole who cheated on my mom before I was even born,” I say with a shrug.
“I’m sorry,” Noah says.
“Nah, don’t be. Carter is the best dad ever. I’m glad my real dad’s out of the picture, to be honest. I don’t even know him.” I’m not usually this blunt when talking to people about my family, but Noah is surprisingly easy to talk to. Like you could tell him anything, and he’d take it in his stride.
“That’s his loss?—”
“C’mon and get your asses over here!” Penn hollers, interrupting Noah mid-sentence. I jump. I was enjoying talking to Noah so much I’d almost forgotten the others were here.
Penn lies on his back on the couch, now shirtless with a tower of cookies stacked on his chest and Fisher hovering over him with his hand above the cookies in case they topple.
“We’re gonna play a game,” Fisher adds, briefly glancing up at us.
Noah crosses his arms warily. “What game?”
“Jenga,” Penn says.
“Cool,” I say, sliding off the counter. I was enjoying talking to Noah again, trading stories and getting to know him a little better, but game night sounds fun, too. “I’m in.”
But Noah crosses his arms. “No.”
“Yes,” Penn replies.
“Don’t be a downer, Downsby,” Fisher adds.
“What’s wrong with Jenga?” I wonder aloud.
Noah looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “They’re not talking about normal Jenga,” he says, quiet so only I can hear him.
“What?” I whisper back, but my question is pretty much answered for me as Fisher empties the entire Jenga box onto the coffee table.
Immediately, I can see that each wooden piece is covered in writing. Different blocks have different colors of pen.
“I’m intrigued.” I study Noah, wondering what he’s got against not-normal Jenga.
He levels his gaze on me as he replies, “You really shouldn’t be.”
Those words, spoken in his deep, gruff voice, sound like a delicious threat.
I pop an eyebrow and place my hands on my hips. “Is that a challenge, Downsby?”
“Do you want it to be?” His dark eyes bore into mine, and heat licks at my spine.
“Challenge accepted!” I blurt, breaking eye contact before I spontaneously combust. In an attempt to appear unaffected by that panty-melting look he just gave me, I quickly smirk at him before I run into the living room, slipping over the wooden floors in my socks and sucking in some vital oxygen as I go.
Noah’s deep chuckle echoes in my ears as he walks intothe living room behind me, and I’m delighted because I think that means he’s decided to play.
“Okay.” Penn cracks his knuckles, all business, as Noah and I both sit down on the couch. “Here are the rules of Extreme Jenga, as per the official Arlington University guidelines.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “Official, my ass.”
“It was a beloved party game at the hockey house,” Penn clarifies, grabbing the stack of cookies off his chest and moving them to the coffee table so he can sit upright. “And I took the best set with me when I graduated.”
“So it's a drinking game?” I ask skeptically.
