Let's Get Quizzical, page 9
“I’ll have a mimosa, please,” I say.
“Make it two,” Eli adds.
We receive our drinks, and the stewardess moves on. “What are we toasting?” Eli asks.
“To winning?” I ask.
“And fresh starts,” Eli says.
“To winning and fresh starts.” I raise my glass.
“Cheers.” We gently tap our plastic cups, because the flimsy plastic doesn’t exactly clink.
“Oh, I have snacks too.” I root around in my bag and pull out Twizzlers and cheddar & sour cream Pringles. “Your favorites, right?”
He grins and grabs the Pringles. “They are. I can’t believe you remember that.”
I blush and shrug. “It’s no big deal.” I want to tell him that of course I remember. I remember every second I spent with him. I remember every detail about the people who are important to me, and he was always important.
When the conversation dips, I put on Sweet Home Alabama. He puts on the news, but about five minutes in, I catch him abandoning all pretense of watching his own screen and openly watching mine.
“It’s a great movie,” I say. Watching it on his own TV might be the more practical option, but then he’d have to fast-forward or rewatch the beginning. I offer him an earbud, flushing at the swoony Jim and Pam vibes it gives me.
He caves and accepts the earbud, which seemed like a great choice before I was watching it with my former high school sweetheart. As the movie progresses, and the former flame reappears and they fall for each other again, we both shift around. The tiny space between our seats widens by what few centimeters it can, and things get awkward. We both drink a lot more to deal with the discomfort, and then we’re both wasted. Or at least I’m wasted, and I think he is too?
The little air conditioner above me slurps as I twist it off, then back on again. “Is this thing on all the way? It’s hot in here. It wasn’t this hot in here before, was it?”
“It’s definitely gotten hotter,” Eli agrees. His eyes are hard on me as he says it, and another surge of heat washes over me. Is the mile high club really a thing? The bathrooms are miniscule. I feel like it’s only a thing for people who can fly by themselves on a private jet, but I’m tempted to drag him into that sardine can with me to find out. Maybe I should order some water.
Eli fiddles with his air conditioner, coming to the same conclusion I did, that those little things are not effective enough in these tiny spaces. We settle into our seats and both move to use our shared armrest at the same time.
“Sorry.” He pulls his arm back into his lap.
“Don’t be.” I meet his eyes, and the world spins. I’m not sure if it’s Eli that’s making me light-headed or the alcohol.
“Okay.” His voice sounds as dry as mine feels as he settles his arm against mine. Little ripples of energy spark along my arm where we’re touching. I wish I could feel his skin against mine—damn fabric. I realize belatedly I’m wearing a sweater and sit upright to take it off. I fling my arm back in the small space, to pull out of the sleeve, and my fist makes contact.
Eli lets out a pained grunt and doubles over.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I shriek, and an attendant shoots me a look from a few rows up. The mortification at punching him in the groin sobers me fast.
“I’ll be all right—just give me a minute,” he wheezes, still doubled over.
I bite at my lip and watch him fight through the pain. After a minute, he straightens and gives me a tight smile. “If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked.”
I roll my eyes, but his tactic to make me feel less guilty works. “Maybe later,” I say flirtatiously, and his eyebrows shoot skyward.
I sit forward to attempt sweater removal once again, and Eli lifts his knees protectively. “Here, let me help you.”
“Okay.” My voice is soft, as I turn away from him and carefully roll my shoulders back to allow him access. Eli’s hands move achingly slowly, grazing my cheek to brush my hair aside. His hands slide down my neck and catch the neckline of the sweater. He glides them down the edges of the fabric, over my shoulder, and is careful to pull the fabric away so he isn’t publicly fondling me.
I send past-Charlotte a quick thank-you for putting on a thick bra that doesn’t show just how hard my nipples get at the nearness of his hands running down the length of my body. He pulls the sweater gently back and peels it down my arms. My skin alights with fire. We’re both fully clothed and haven’t so much as kissed, yet I’m so turned on I might combust. The heady combination of the liquid courage and the sensual act of removing my sweater has us teetering on the edge of a very public make-out session. I don’t envy the poor soul in the window seat on the other side of me.
“That’s better,” I whisper, settling back and again laying my arm alongside his. This time we’re skin to skin, and there’s no hiding the way my hair is on end and the goose bumps that ripple my flesh despite the heat. I swallow hard, even though my mouth is dry. I lick my lips to wet them, and Eli’s eyes widen. My gaze catches his lips, and an unseen thread pulls me toward him with such force, I’m outnumbered in the tug-of-war ten to one. We both lean in, and then the grandpa next to me clears his throat loudly.
“Excuse me. I need to use the restroom,” he says.
The thread of tension is cut and vanishes in an instant.
“Right.” I shake my head to clear away the fog and the feeling of how badly I wanted to kiss Eli. So much for not trusting him with my heart.
We stand, and the man edges past. Once we’re again seated, we fold our hands in our own laps. Suddenly we’re like any two unknown passengers, stuck next to each other, who go to great lengths to tuck in on themselves and avoid touching their seatmates.
“So,” Eli says.
“That was—” I begin.
“It’s probably best that—” he says.
“Oh.” My tone is flat, and the edges of my mouth droop in disappointment. Even if the vibe was lost, I’d been ready to ask if he wanted to try that again.
His eyes widen. “No, I wanted to. I meant, with the alcohol—”
“Excuse me,” the man from our row says again, returning from his restroom break. We again do the shuffle to let him through. When we sit down, this time the moment is completely lost.
“Two hours to go,” Eli mutters.
The alcohol has caught up with me. I’ve lost the giddy thrill of it, and now my eyelids are heavy. I’ve spent the week tossing and turning, thinking about Eli being in the other room. Sleep has been limited, and when I did manage it, it was interrupted by my own spasms of pleasure from dreaming about him. I’m a mess.
“Charlotte?” he asks.
“I’m just so tired,” I say.
“Rest, then. We’re ready.”
I lay my head back on the seat, twisting around uncomfortably in the small space.
“Here,” Eli whispers, lifting the armrest between us. “May I?” he asks, holding an arm out.
If I hadn’t sent him enough signals already, letting him put an arm around me now would seal it. I ought to be sure. I ought to think this through and figure out what exactly I want from him. But I’m too drunk and tired to care. I nod sleepily, fighting to blink my heavy eyelids.
He folds his arm around me, and I lay my head on his chest, finally caving to the exhaustion and letting myself fall asleep.
* * *
Two hours later, Eli gently nudges me awake. I pull myself upright and wipe my cheek dry. Horrifyingly, there’s a wet spot staining his shirt, where my head was laying. Fantastic. Not only did I use him as a pillow, but he didn’t wake me when I drooled on him.
I gesture toward his chest. “Sorry.” My cheeks flame with simultaneous mortification and swooning.
“No worries. We’re almost there. They just made the announcement to buckle up for descent.”
I can’t even blame the sudden decrease in altitude for the way my heart jumps into my throat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ELI
We’re ready. We’ve got this.
Sarah escorts us to our holding room until the first half of the show determines the team we’ll be playing against.
“Have you two seen all the buzz on social media this week?” Sarah asks. She’s practically skipping into the room.
I trade glances with Charlie, and she shrugs.
“No,” I say. “What buzz?”
“The Brain Battle fandom is wild about you two! The show’s chat boards were full of chatter about the sparks between you two last week.”
“Sparks?” Charlie asks.
It may have only been one week, but with all the travel and changes between Charlie and I, it feels like so much longer. Centuries have passed. Kingdoms have risen and fallen. Wrongs have been righted, chances have been taken, and Charlie drooled on my chest.
I shouldn’t be as excited about that last one as I am. In the past I’ve looked around planes, and when I’ve seen someone who isn’t reading, watching anything, sleeping, messing around on a device, or talking to anyone, they’re just staring ahead of them, I’ve thought, “Wow, what kind of person sits on a plane and stares at the headrest in front of them for hours on end?”
The last two hours of that flight, I did just that. I didn’t dare move to put a movie on and risk waking her. After years of missing her and wishing things were different, she was asleep in my arms, and I could not have cared less about a patch of drool.
I kept glancing down and wanting to rest my head atop hers; place a soft kiss on her hair. If only we were an actual couple and I had the freedom to do that. Instead, I was the newly forgiven asshole from the past, with whom she’d tentatively allowed an alliance bordering on friendship.
“Um, yeah.” Sarah frowns at us in turn, looking at us like we’re both completely dense. “The onscreen arguments that Clint was ready to toss you off the show for. Did you forget?”
“No,” Charlie answers.
Kind of. Not entirely, since we spent the week focused on our weak categories in case he made good on his threat, but really, we would have been doing that anyway. Or maybe not. Maybe his threat was the push we needed to work together this week. Maybe I owe that corporate asshole a thank-you card for getting me so much face time.
“And then the handhold!” Sarah squeals. “I didn’t catch that live, but a fan posted the video, and it’s been going around, and then someone made a meme on it, and half the people adding text to the meme probably don’t have a clue what it’s from at this point, but you two are all over. People didn’t know what to make of you, but they want more. I’ll bet we have record numbers tonight, and he was actually mad at you for it. Ha!” She pushes open the door and lets us into the room.
“Okay, there’s water and snacks on the counter. That door over there is the restroom. You’ve got … thirty-two minutes until you’re on. Someone will give you a five-minute warning and walk you to set. Later!” She flits out the door without bothering to ask if there’s anything else we need.
“I thought the camera had caught the handhold, but I wasn’t sure,” I say.
“Oh, I knew it did. I heard about it from my parents and Gran right away.” Charlie’s cheeks burn a pretty pink. Of course, her parents did. No wonder they’d given me the third degree. “I hadn’t known the video was circulating, the fandom was talking about us, or that we’re apparently a meme. I was so absorbed in studying this week, I didn’t go on social media at all.”
“I don’t go on social media ever,” I say. This is not exactly true. I do an occasional social media search … mostly checking in on her over the years as I wondered where she was and kicked myself for never reaching out.
“Oh, come on.” She folds her arms over her chest and glares down her nose at me in a shocking resemblance to the way her mother had.
I take it as the challenge it is and step closer to her to meet it. “Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I’m vain enough to fish for likes.”
“That’s not all they’re used for.” She matches my step forward, further closing the gap between us.
“Maybe not, but it’s a pretty big part of it.” One more step closer. Any more, and we’ll be nose to nose.
It doesn’t stop Charlie. She tilts her face toward mine, so her lips are only an inch away. “You seem to know a lot for someone who doesn’t use them.”
“What can I say?” I whisper, “I’m well informed.”
Charlie laughs and steps away before it can go any further. “All right, mister—keep it in your pants. We’ve got a game to play.”
We quiz each other as a warm-up. The whole point of our nearness this week was to study for the show, with the intent of winning and progressing to another round. While we worked though, my attention was more on being with Charlotte, and I think hers was more on being with me too, despite the issues with my car.
Now that we’re here, the reality of the game is impossible to ignore, and my nerves have come into play.
* * *
“It’s time to welcome back last week’s winners. Please give a warm welcome to—” Our names are drowned out by the live audience’s cheers. My palms are already slick with sweat, and my heart rate is sky high. With the exclusion of the individual round, we only have to make it through half an episode, and the time flies.
“Question four,” Bobby says. The questions are fast and furious, and Charlie and I are in the zone. We’ve got this.
We have none of last week’s communication issues. With a glance, I know if she has the answer, and she knows if I do. If we both know it, we consult each other before either of us responds. We can’t miss. We’ve answered every single question correctly, and none of last week’s tension is there. We’ve spent a whole week getting comfortable with each other again.
I pick her up and spin her around in celebration of another question answered correctly. Our poor competitors look miserable. As we near the end of the episode, they’ve only missed a couple questions, but we stole the points and are well ahead. On another week they might have stood a chance, but just like in high school debates during speech class, Charlie and I are the dream team.
The whole show goes by in a blur. When it comes down to the last questions, our answers don’t matter because we have such a strong lead, but Charlie leans into my arms, and looks up at me, slowly mouthing, “Paprika,” with a wide smile. It takes all I have not to bend down and kiss her then and there. When her gaze drops to my lips, I’m pretty sure she wants it too, but there’s no way our first kiss since our reconciliation is happening on stage.
“That’s correct,” Bobby announces.
The studio audience erupts, and a storm of multicolored confetti rains down on us. We’ve won a second week. I have a valid excuse to spend seven more days with Charlie. At home, my dad, who swapped shifts so he could watch, can see that things really are changing.
I brush confetti away from my face. As Bobby closes out the show, our prize money flashes in red on a screen above us. As soon as this money comes through, he can be done working way too many hours at two jobs. Finally, he can have some rest, and I can have the peace of mind that he isn’t going to do something to cover our debts that lands him in jail again.
Neither will I. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was just as afraid that if things got any worse, I’d fall into the same patterns and end up following in his footsteps.
The celebration is loud and chaotic, but in the center of it is Charlie, grinning at me. I can afford to finish school, and I can allow myself to earn her trust. I know that poverty is often systemic and nothing to be ashamed of, but I feared who I’d become, driven by necessity. Without poverty nipping at my heels, I’m confident I can be the man she deserves, or at least I can try.
I pull her into a tight hug. Her arms squeeze me, and she shakes with relieved laughter. When we pull back, I wipe away her tears of joy. The lights that indicate we’re live switch out, and they call the end of the show. Around us the excitement of our win fades, and the crew moves in to clean up.
Sarah hands the losing team off to another crew member to escort out, then walks over to us, beaming.
“You two were great!”
“Thanks,” Charlie says. “It wasn’t as stressful this time. It was fun!”
I nod my agreement but can’t help wondering if the stress from last time was more from being on the show or from my sudden appearance. Maybe a mix of both.
“You two can head to the holding room. If you wait just a few minutes, I can get your details for this week. You’re still planning on staying, correct?
“Yes, we are,” Charlie says.
“Great! I’ve gotta do some things real quick, and I think Clint wants to talk to you again. Sit tight.”
The door clicks shut behind Sarah, and I turn to Charlie. Not only will we have more money coming in, but I get to spend another whole week with her, free from any obligations other than staying on our toes for the show. If she had changed her mind, though, I’d have gone back to Michigan too. I’m fully prepared to follow her around like a lost puppy.
She watches me with wide eyes, and all of a sudden a giggle bubbles out of her before she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, I’m great,” she says in a way that implies that the opposite is true.
“You look like you’re freaking out. Why are you freaking out?”
“I’m not freaking out, I’m just … you know what? I think I’m going to see if I can find that meme.”
A deliberate subject change, but I’ll let her have it. I pull out my phone to look for it as well, not that I even know where to start, and my attention snags on a text from my dad:
I think we’re going to have to sell your car.
Shit. I’d filled him in on what had happened, and given him the mechanic’s quote, but we’d yet to decide what to do. If he’d texted that earlier today, even knowing we had a shot at more prize money, something else must have happened.
