The Last Wingman (Wingmen Book 6), page 5
“You’re welcome, and for the record, I one hundred percent believe he survived the plane crash and was smart enough to disappear with the ransom money.” I’m not a conspiracy nut, but some things make sense. Extraterrestrial life, yes. Dragons, yes. Big Foot, possibly.
While we play, my attention keeps drifting over to the round booth in the corner every time I hear June’s laughter. Her team consists of three older women. If I had to guess, I’d say they range in age from late forties to early sixties, but it’s hard to tell their exact ages. The oldest one is Alexis, the owner of the local independent bookstore. She’s an institution in Langley. Between the public librarians and her, they saved teenage me through their book recommendations and quiet places to hang out when I needed to escape home.
The other two aren’t as familiar, but I’ve seen them around downtown. Best guess is they’re all part of the same knitting group … or coven. Or both?
Alexis catches me staring at their group and smiles, wiggling her fingers in a friendly wave.
I return the gesture, feeling a fondness for her after all these years.
June glances between Alexis and me, a frown on her face as she says something to her teammate. Still smiling at me, the older woman ducks her head to hear better over the din of the bar.
Whatever June says makes Alexis laugh and pat her arm. Shaking her head, she responds and points at me.
I wish I read lips so I could find out what’s obviously being said about me. My cheeks warm.
“Okay, we’re moving on to the next question,” Simon, our host, announces. “Name all the members of the ’80s Brat Pack. First and last names required or your answer will be disqualified. Bonus points if you can also name anyone in the earlier Rat Pack that proceeded them.”
I know this.
Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford; and … shit, whatshisface.
I’ll come back to him.
Ally Sheedy, Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez, Anthony Michael Hall, Judd Nelson, Andrew McCarthy, Demi Moore, Rob Lowe.
After I scribble all the names I can remember, I place my paper in the middle of the table.
“Wow. That was fast.” Diane high-fives me.
“Unless ‘whatshisface’ is someone’s actual name, I didn’t get all of the Rat Pack. Hoping one of you can fill in the blank.”
June’s also done writing on her paper. When our eyes meet, she lifts her glass in a toast—or a challenge.
“Jerry Lewis!” I shout before I remember the rules. “Shit.”
Simon chuckles into his cordless microphone. “Someone’s a big fan.”
Embarrassed, I check June’s reaction to my outburst.
Amusement pursing her lips, she shakes her head.
Was that an I can’t believe he just yelled out the answer no? Or a No, Jerry wasn’t cool enough to be in the Rat Pack” headshake? Would she warn me about being wrong? Why would she help us? Giving information to the enemy would seem to be against the spirit of trivia Thunderdome.
Diane scoops up everyone’s papers and silently reads them.
“Okay, we have consensus on all the members of the Brat Pack but only agree on four out of the five OGs.”
“Anyone else have Mr. Lewis?” I whisper. “Or can we pretend I was deliberately misleading our competition?”
Diane shows me the rest of the slips of paper.
“Right. That guy.” I point at Joey Bishop.
We hand over our final answer to Cassie. Simon announces, “The only two teams who had the answer right are Yarned and Dangerous and”—he holds up the card like he’s already forgotten the second team—“Ebey’s Head, which means we have two teams tied for first place.”
Smug my outburst didn’t derail us, I grin at June. Her acknowledgment is a slight dip of her chin.
I grin to myself. Maybe she doesn’t think of me as an enemy after all.
We alternate winning rounds until the final question. Simon announces the category is arts and crafts.
All three of my teammates groan.
“I swear they somehow rig this whole thing, probably bribing Simon with mittens and extra thick socks,” Cari mutters.
“We’re doomed.” Erik rests both of his hands on top of his head.
“Hey, I’ve got the art part down,” Diane reassures them.
“Ready?” Simon asks. “This type of embroidery was widely popular in Britain during the seventeenth century and can feature threads of precious materials like gold and silver as well as wool.”
Erik puts his pen down. “I’m out.”
Cari and Diane stare at each other, brows scrunched in thought.
Instead of paying attention to my own team, I watch as June writes something on her paper and folds it in half with a sharp crease.
Costumes and fashion aren’t my wheelhouse, but I’ve read enough fantasy fiction in my lifetime to be familiar with some terms. It’s a long shot, but I scrawl a single word on my page.
All three pairs of eyes stare at me.
“What?” I place my paper in the center.
“You confident about that answer?” Cari points at the only page on the table. “Because you’re our only hope.”
“I’ve still got nothing,” Diane agrees. “I’m not crafty at all.”
“Do we still get bragging rights for coming in second?” I ask.
“Not really, but allegedly tying brings on a sudden death round.”
“Allegedly?” I clarify. “No one has ever tied before?”
“Not even once,” Diane says.
“Nothing to lose but losing. Let’s go with this one.” I tap the middle of the table.
Cassie shows up to collect our answer.
Unable to stop focusing on June, I notice she raises her eyebrows at me after Cassie takes their paper. I swear she mouths, “Bring it.”
“The answer we’re looking for is crewelwork. Let’s see if anyone got it correct.” Simon takes forever to read the responses, and his dramatic pause draws grumbling from the various teams. “Well, this is exciting. For the first time in our history, we’re moving on to a tie-breaking sudden death round between Ebey’s Head and our reigning champions, Yarned and Dangerous.”
June’s jaw drops so far I’m worried she’s going to bang it on the table.
My own team sits stunned, all eyes on me while I grin in triumph.
“How did you know that?” Erik asks.
“Reading books.” Pleased and enjoying June’s shock, I shrug off their surprise.
Cari holds out her fist for a bump. “Inviting you tonight was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
“Hey now, what about me?” Erik crosses his arms.
Leaning across the table, Cari kisses his cheek. “Okay, okay. After coming to Whidbey on a whim and then moving here permanently, this is right up there.”
“We haven’t won yet,” I point out.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Diane says. “If Jonah can stop staring at June long enough to really focus, we might win.”
Busted, I bite the corner of my mouth and drop my focus to my hands on the table.
“Thought so,” she mumbles, amused.
Simon’s voice brings our attention back to him. “Okay, each of the tied teams will appoint one person to be their player for sudden death. I’ll ask a question and the first person to respond with the correct answer wins. If you say the wrong answer, the other team will automatically win.”
“No pressure or anything,” I joke. “Which one of you is going to do it?”
They make eye contact and nod.
“You,” Erik declares.
“Me? I’m the new guy. This might be our one shot at glory. Are you sure?”
Cari speaks for all of them. “A hundred percent. You’re our good luck charm.”
“Who are our players?” Simon asks.
“Jonah for us.” Diane lifts her arm and points down at my head.
“And for you?” Simon turns to June’s table.
“Me,” June says, eyes on me.
“Come on up.” Simon swings his arm, inviting us to join him near the DJ booth.
As our teams cheer for us, I enjoy the view of June walking ahead of me. Her full skirt makes her waist appear narrow, exaggerating her hourglass shape. Some men like athletic and thin women, but I prefer a woman with curves and softness to her body.
We face each other in front of Simon like this is an impromptu wedding ceremony, which is now the weirdest though I’ve had during this very strange evening.
“Introduce yourselves.” He holds the mic in front of June and then me.
“Okay, June and Jonah, are you ready to fight to the death to become champion of China Ruby trivia?”
Dramatic, much?
“Yes,” we both agree as if murder is something we’re completely comfortable with in order to win a competition that doesn’t even give out a trophy.
“Either of you have questions before I read the clue?”
“I do.” Keeping my focus on June, I ask, “Do we have to wait until you’ve read the entire clue before answering?”
Simon chuckles. “Eager, are we? No, feel free to share your guess as soon as you think you know it.” His tone tells me he fully expects a premature exclamation from me. “Any more questions?”
“No. I’m good.”
June stares at me, her cheeks flushed. Standing with her hands on her hips, her shoulders back, and her chin lifted, she’s in a classic power pose, showing me I don’t intimate her.
She’s adorable. I’ve always been a sucker for vintage Wonder Woman.
Simon lowers his voice, sounding like a TV gameshow host. “Sudden death begins now. I’ll say the clue only once, so listen carefully.”
June’s teeth worry the corner of her bottom lip. Distracted by the deep rose color of her lips and thoughts of kissing her, tasting her, I momentarily zone out and miss the first words of Simon’s clue.
“… beloved by the French, this American was also a vocal advocate for—”
“Jerry Lewis!” For the second time tonight, I yell out that name.
June’s lips part but she doesn’t speak. No one says anything. Oh fuck.
“That’s correct!” Simon slaps me on the shoulder. “Looks like we have a new champion. Congrats to Ebey’s Head!”
“Holy shit!” Diane shouts and jumps out of our booth. Cari and Erik quickly follow, high-fiving each other and other teams as they walk toward me.
June extends her hand. “Congratulations. Great game.”
Like her smile, her words are genuine. A happy feeling settles in my chest at getting complimented by her.
“Thank you. You were tough competition.” My longer fingers engulf her warm hand. “Sorry, my hand is cold.”
“Crewelwork, huh?” She tilts her head to the side, studying me.
“Told you I’m the king of random information.”
“Rematch next week?”
It’s a challenge, but one I’m happy to accept. I feel like I’m beginning to crack her tough outer shell.
Cari slips between us and hugs me while Erik grips my shoulder, rocking me back and forth. “He’ll be here. He doesn’t have a choice.”
“You’re one of us now.” Diane joins our group hug.
“What about Hailey?” I ask once we break apart.
“Other than her savant knowledge of the Backstreet Boys and other ’90s pop bands, she doesn’t compare.” Erik eyes me. “How are you with boy band trivia?”
“Not my kind of music. Sorry.”
“No worries, I’m pretty good.” Cari’s tucked her arm through mine and leads me back to our table. “We’ll see you next Tuesday, right?”
Diane snorts. “She makes that joke every week.”
Trying to find June in the room, I half-heartedly chuckle at whatever they’re saying. “I’ll be here.”
Alexis walks by our table and smiles at me. “Congratulations on your win. Enjoy the big booth, but don’t get too comfortable in it.”
After she leaves, I ask the table for confirmation. “Did she just put us in the one-and-done category? Like this was a one-off win?”
“Completely.” Erik pulls out his wallet to pay.
I do the same.
“It’s on us tonight. No trophy, but you did get free beer and an egg roll.”
“Okay, next time we win, I’m paying.”
June might not be my biggest fan, but this could be a way to break down her defenses and find out why.
Eight
There’s another car in the lot at the trailhead when I arrive. After a week of non-stop rain, I thought the promise of sun and blue sky would draw more people outside this morning, hence the reason I’m here just after dawn. I prefer my walks in the woods to be solitary. This is where I think and plan and sort through daily life. I can do the full five-mile loop on the trails in Saratoga Woods and still be the first one at work.
A few minutes into my trek, I notice a tiny door filling a gap in the roots of a cedar near the trail. Complete with hinges and a small window, the arched wooden door is perfectly scaled down to fit the natural curve of the tree.
“Hello there,” I say to it then immediately feel ridiculous, but not enough to stop talking. “What are you hiding?”
Squatting down, I manage to disengage the latch and open it. Tucked into the small space is a real bird’s nest containing three tiny eggs. At first glance, I think they’re real eggs, too, but when I pick one up, I discover it’s a painted rock.
Someone put a lot of time into crafting the details of the door and its hidden treasure.
Carefully, I replace the egg back and close the door’s latch, leaving everything as I found it for the next observant hiker.
I reach the crest of the trail and find a woman sitting in what I’ve come to consider my spot. There’s a large cedar log that’s become a makeshift bench at the turnaround point near the enormous glacial boulder, and it’s occupied by June. I recognize her dark hair and the curve of her body even though she’s not in her typical feminine clothing.
Once I recover from the surprise of seeing her and calm my racing heart, I find my voice. “Good morning.”
She startles. “What are you doing here?”
As I step into the clearing, I notice she’s not wearing a dress. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything other than a dress or a skirt, but this morning she’s sporting dark purple leggings and a pair of hiking boots splattered with mud. Now I understand the Victorian fascination with calves. This feels intimate, seeing the full outline of her legs from ankle to hip.
I don’t realize I’m staring until the soft sound of a throat clearing breaks the trance of June’s lower half. Realizing I didn’t answer her question, I reply, “This is my favorite spot for an early morning hike. Never seen you here before.”
“I’m usually more of an afternoon hiker. I love the slant of afternoon light through the trees, but the rain is supposed to return later today, so I thought I’d enjoy the sun while I can. I didn’t know you’d claimed the rock as your own. Should I go?”
“No, of course not.” I walk up the path and settle on a round outcropping of the boulder. “I had the same thought, about the rain. Seize the moment and all that.”
“Do you come here often?” She wrinkles her nose. “That sounded like a pick-up line. It wasn’t.”
Disappointed she’s not using a cheesy line on me, I chuckle. “Thanks for clarifying.”
“I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Her laughter sounds more nervous than amused.
“Trust me, I knew you weren’t trying to hit on me.” Exhaling, I decide to be honest. “I get the feeling you’re not a fan of mine.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Are you?”
“A fan? Do you have a lot of fans?”
“Why are you answering my questions with more questions?”
“Am I?” Her lips twitch with amusement.
I laugh. “Well played.”
“Do you want me to be one of your fans?”
“No.” Images of a Naked Whidbey calendar hanging in her house flash through my mind and I cringe. Moments like this are why I should’ve given more thought to posing naked for charity. “It’s a figure of speech.”
Adjusting her green glasses with the tip of her finger, she clarifies. “So what you’re really asking is why don’t I like you.”
Her straightforward words and steady gaze do a much better job than I do of getting to the point. Feeling like I’ve been physically punched in the gut, I focus on my breathing.
A droplet of water falls on my head from the large cedar tree above me. I’m pretty sure it’s rainwater and not bird shit, but given the direction this encounter had been heading in, the latter might be more appropriate. I swipe my hand over my hair and am relieved to see clear liquid.
“Guess I am.”
“Does it matter if I don’t?” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her parka.
“Like me?”
She nods.
“Was it something I did? Or said?”
“We’re just very different.” Her gaze shifts to a spot over my shoulder.
“How do you know?”
She points at her eyebrow, earlobes, and forearms.
“Ah, judging a book by its cover?” She’s not the first to make up her mind about me based on physical appearance. Most of the time, I don’t care what people think. If they want to be superficial assholes, let them. June doing it annoys me, though, and apparently, I can’t let it go. Whether or not she likes me, I’m smitten with her.
“We might have loads of stuff in common. We both enjoy a cutthroat pub quiz night and hikes in the woods. We could share an unquenchable love for ramen, or a mutual hatred of golf.”
“Those seem oddly specific.”
“I don’t like golf, but I wouldn’t say it’s reached hatred level. Please don’t tell me you were varsity golf state champion.”
“Never played more than mini golf as a kid.”
“Phew. So that’s one thing.”
“And I do love ramen,” she replies, tone thoughtful.
“Have you tried Oodles on Second Street?”
“They’re next door to the Pilates studio, so I eat there all the time. Pretty sure I’ve had everything on their menu.”
