Page 76 of The Best Parts of Him
That was it. Short and simple and to the point.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Ryland blurted, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.
Dabbs opened his mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by Miles. “Hey, Dabbs, is this you?”
“No,” Dabbs said, laughing one of those is he for real laughs. “I’m not part of your organization.”
Miles side-eyed Ryland, pencil poised over his human Bingo card. “You kind of are.”
Dabbs sighed, and it was both exasperated and amused. “Your team tried to beat mine into submission four weeks ago.”
Miles shrugged. “It wasn’t personal.” He waved the card at Ryland. “Which one of these are you? You could be several of them.”
“Figure it out and maybe I’ll tell you.”
Grumbling, Miles walked away.
Around the room, guests were completing their own Bingo cards. The entire point of human Bingo, the way Ryland had explained it to the event organizers, was that it created connection. It taught someone something new about a colleague, which, in turn, sparked conversation.
Over by the drinks table, a couple of the vets were laughing with a couple of the rookies, and when was the last time that happened?
Dabbs removed his own Bingo card from the pocket of his slacks. “Okay, but seriously . . . which one of these is you?”
Ryland laughed and leaned against him. “You haven’t figured it out yet?
“Can do a cartwheel?”
“I can do a cartwheel, but that one’s not mine.”
“Can use chopsticks? No.” Dabbs narrowed his gaze on him. “Not that one.”
“I think I’m insulted.”
“Tell me it’s not this Christmas Eve thing. Really, Rya? Waiting until the last minute?” Dabbs didn’t wait for Ryland to confirm or deny before marking his name in the little square. “It’s okay, don’t worry. We’ll break you out of that habit.”
Ryland couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m going to find someone who can recite a poem from memory. You coming?”
“I promised my followers I’d go live,” Ryland said. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Dabbs kissed him, short and sweet. “Don’t spend so much time with your followers that you forget to have fun in here. Okay?”
He wandered away without waiting for a response.
Santa would arrive any minute to delight the kids, so Ryland got situated with his phone on the opposite side of the kids’ corner so they didn’t end up in his video.
But as he was about to go live, something—instinct?—stopped him.
Tomorrow, Dabbs’ post about his books would go public. He was using his platform for good—to raise funds for a non-profit.
The irony? Publishing under his own name—using his own platform—had been Ryland’s idea, and yet all Ryland used his platform for was for likes and comments that pumped up his own ego.
He didn’t need the likes. He didn’t need the comments. They were temporary dopamine hits from strangers that didn’t mean anything.
What did mean something was the man currently laughing with Miles, still wearing the paper crown just to make a little kid happy.
Ryland put his phone away.
