Page 22 of Scoring the Player
“Flip cup?”
“Yes!” she screams, a little too eager and with a whole lot of sarcasm.
Laughing, I motion toward the table where a group is playing. “Let’s see what you got.”
Brogan glances up as we approach. They’re just finishing a game and people are leaving. We step up across from Brogan and Archer as the teams re-form.
“Are you sure you want to be on that side of the table?” Brogan asks her. He points at me. “That guy might be better at throwing a football, but drinking is my specialty.”
“That’s Brogan,” I say as I fill our cups with beer. “Brogan meet Dahlia.”
“Heard lots about you,” he says.
I lean closer to Dahlia. “He’s shit at flip cup. Don’t let him psych you out.”
“We’ll see.” Brogan grins.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice is barely audible over the music.
“On three,” Archer says, glancing up and down the table. He counts down and then Dahlia and Brogan start us off.
If I expected her to be as hesitant in her flip cup skills as she is in everything else, I was wrong. So wrong. She’s slower to drain the cup than Brogan, but she slams the cup down and then flips it lightly with one finger. It lands perfectly. I wasn’t expecting it and I’m slow to pick up my own cup. Luckily, Brogan is still struggling. I chug and then flip, getting it on the first try too, just not quite as perfectly as Dahlia.
The guy next to me goes, but I turn to Dahlia, instead of watching him.
“You’re pretty good at that.”
“Did you expect me to be bad?” Her brows rise.
“Maybe.”
“Because I’m a girl?”
“No, because you usually seem so timid.”
“I’m good with competition. It gets me out of my head.”
Speaking of, the cheers at the end of the table draw our attention and we glance over in time to see Lucas lifting both arms up in victory.
“We won!” I lift my hand up for her to high-five.
With a smile that spreads her pink lips wide, she smacks my hand. Her touch is warm, palm soft. I can’t resist closing my fingers around hers to prolong the contact.
Our gazes are locked when Archer says, “Can we trade Brogan for Dahlia?”
“Hey,” Brogan scoffs at his buddy.
She pulls away. Her chin drops slightly, letting her hair fall into her face. “The more I drink, the worse I get. And I’m a lightweight. So basically, I have one or two more good games in me and then you’ll be kicking my ass.”
The table laughs. Everyone except Archer. I repeat what she said and then say to her, “Archer’s mostly deaf. He reads lips.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She signs something, hands moving with an efficiency I’ve only ever seen in Brogan.
Archer’s lips curve and he responds. He typically just signs when he and Brogan don’t want us to know what they’re saying. Fuckers. I’d love to know what he and Dahlia are saying now, but I’ve only mastered, ‘fuck you’ and ‘eat a dick.’
They continue signing at a rapid pace as all eyes at the table watch them. When Dahlia realizes the attention they’ve gathered, her chin drops.
“Do I want to know what you two were talking about?” I ask them.
