Page 81 of Playing to Win

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand through the air. She is saved from my addressing that damn attitude by our number being called at the counter. “To be continued,” I say, pointing to her as I leave the booth.

When I come back with our food, Izzy and Cady are talking about Broadway shows—their favorites and which they’ve seen recently. I dish out two mouthwatering cheeseburgers to them, while I try not to lose my shit over the plain chicken breast in front of me.

“I adore Wicked,” Izzy says, as they unwrap their burgers in unison.

“Oh, me too. That song. You know, the big one where the witch floats up from the stage?”

“Defying Gravity!” they shout together.

As I work my way through my bland meal—which ought to be outlawed in a burger joint this good—I watch my girls.

They both lift the lids of their buns and remove the pickle and tomato slices from the top of their meat, placing them on the side of their burger wrappers. They don’t stop talking as I reach out and take all four pieces of veggie for myself. Other than paying the check, I’m basically superfluous to this lunch.

The rain has started up again by the time we leave the restaurant. Given we’re so close to my apartment, we decide to make a run for it. We stop to pick up chocolate and ice cream, which I’ll have to watch Cady and Izzy eat later, and somewhere along the way, a decision is made to play Monopoly, then watch a movie tonight.

As much as I hate Monopoly because it usually drags on forever, I enjoyed sitting around the living room, the three of us playfully jibing at each other. My enjoyment was helped by the fact I won. Another reason I don’t usually like Monopoly…I always win, which is boring. Today, though, it was a close call.

It’s after seven by the time we decide to wash up and put on lounge clothes for the movie. Unsurprisingly, I have no say in what we watch. Izzy connects her Mac to my flat-screen and Kate Hudson appears in some chick flick.

Cady curls her feet beneath her in the lounge-chair. I rest back into the L of the sofa and pull Izzy to sit between my legs. She’s reluctant, I can tell from her rigid body, but she eventually gives in.

Cady offers chocolate to Izzy, which she takes and eats, delighting in my growl against her ear. It pleases me to see how she has become more comfortable with food. Cady pops the lid on a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and dives in.

“I can’t believe you’re making me watch a chick flick,” I grumble.

“Shh…,” both girls say, putting me firmly back in my box.

I decide around a half hour into the movie, it isn’t so bad. Perhaps it isn’t the movie, so much as the company. I rest my chin on Izzy’s hair, breathing in her familiar shampoo, and tighten my arms around her. I watch Cady, focused on the TV, so much so her ice cream drips from her spoon back into the container.

It dawns on me that this is the life I always wanted. Just as quickly, I swallow the tightness that takes hold of my throat. I’ve always wanted this closeness with Cady and Alice. It’s broken my heart for eighteen years that I couldn’t have it. I’m not sure I could cope if it was snatched away from me again. My chest constricts as my heart rate speeds up. I try to breathe calmly, without drawing Izzy’s attention. But I’m panicking. I’m panicking like fuck.

I love her. I’m in love with Izzy.

I’m terrified.

As the credits roll, Cady stands and stretches her arms above her head with a loud yawn. “Well, I’m pooped. Do me a favor and don’t be loud when you’re doing sexy time? I don’t need to hear that.”

I feel Izzy’s intake of breath as she sits bolt upright. “We wouldn’t, don’t, I…”

“Cady, enough,” I say, raising my brows in a way that tells her she’s crossing the line. “See you in the morning.”

“Such a pooper! ’Night, Dad. ’Night, Izzy.”

When she’s out of earshot, Izzy buries her face in my chest. “Oh my God.”

Now, I laugh as I kiss her hair and stroke her back. “I thought you handled that well.”

She sits back and slaps a hand across my chest. “Shut up. I didn’t know what to say.”

“I. A-ah. Erm.”

She picks up a sofa cushion and throws it at me. I grab her wrists and pull her on top of me. “Seriously, Iz, thank you for today. I know it must have been…odd.”

She swallows so hard I see it in her throat and wonder what she isn’t saying. “She’s a great girl, Brooks. She clearly loves you.”

I wait for more, for the “but” that her expression seems to hold. It doesn’t come. “Shall we go to bed?” I ask.

“Yes, but I can’t, you know…”

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