Page 42 of Rookie Season
“Oh Allegra, my sweet little lamb, it is so much more than a drinking game. It’s a stroke of pure genius, an incredible invention, a mas?—”
“What Penn’s trying to say is that he invented it.” Noah cuts him off with a smirk, which makes me laugh.
Penn is undeterred by Noah’s jab and goes on to explain the rules, which are surprisingly thorough: everyone takes their turn extracting a piece, like normal Jenga, but instead of placing their block back on the top of the big tower, they have to construct their own mini tower, but with the blocks vertical.
“And if you topple over the tower?” I ask.
Penn rubs his hands together in glee. “The person who knocks over a tower—either the main one or their own mini one—has to do a challenge…whatever was on the block that made the tower fall. Challenges are non-negotiable. If you lose a challenge, you lose a point. First person to negative five is eliminated, and so forth, until there’s a winner to be crowned.”
Oh, great.
“A pucking masterpiece!” Fisher looks beyond impressed.
Noah leans close to me, all body heat and raspy voice. “I'm not gonna say I told you so, but I told you so.”
And as much as this game sounds like the odds are stacked against me—my opponents being pro athletes and all that—I point at him and grin. “You're going down, Downsby. Prepare to lose.”
“Fighting words, Callahan,” Noah replies huskily, a smile playing at the corner of his lips that makes me feel a swoop in my stomach. He lowers his voice a little and adds, “I like it.”
I turn away so he can’t see me blush. Because I very much like this new, playful side of Noah.
Probably a little too much.
We all gather around the coffee table and stack the main tower, and then it’s game on. I soon discover that hockey players’ reputations for being competitive are well deserved, as soon the game descends into utter chaos, tempers flaring and accusations flying with things going from civil to all-out war as the boys bicker over everything.
Fisher knocks over the tower first, much to his chagrin, and has to do five handstand pushups while singing the national anthem—which he executes flawlessly.
Then Penn has to drink a cup of hot sauce, which he gags on and forfeits, losing a point.
I fumble next, sending my own tower flying, and when I stand up and read my block, my cheeks flame crimson.
“You chicken, Ally?” Fisher crows, snatching the block out of my hand to read it. He guffaws when he sees what's written there.
“What’s it say?” Penn demands. Fisher shows him theblock, and he smirks. “Perform a sexy dance with the player on your right to a power ballad of another player’s choice.”
Noah—on my right—suddenly goes rigid.
I swallow thickly, my entire face burning up and my pulse jumping in my throat.
If it were Penn or Fisher on my right, I would have laughed it off. Jumped right up and performed some silly antics that involved spinning around with over exaggerated arm actions.
But the words “sexy dance” and “Noah” in the same sentence are making my brain misfire.
Penn gives Noah a shove. “Go on then, Downsby, get up there.”
“Wooooooooo, get it Noah!” Fisher claps.
A flush is also spreading over Noah’s cheekbones as he stands up next to me. “Shall we get this over with?”
“Yup,” I say, hardly able to look at him.
We walk a couple of steps from the couch to an open area of wood flooring. As we turn and face each other I’m suddenly all too aware that Noah has shed his jacket and tie and is now barefoot in just his dress shirt and suit pants. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, baring his forearms, and the top three buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned to show off part of his chiseled chest and a light smattering of dark chest hair. Fisher and Penn huddle over Fisher’s phone to pick the music. When they start laughing their asses off, Noah and I make eye contact.
“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?” I ask. “I’m sorry you got roped into it with me.”
He chuckles softly. “Honestly, it could have been worse…there’s a block that requires the person to do a striptease.”
“Shut up!”
