by Luis, Maria
I peel open my slip of paper. “Right foot.”
Mina glances over at my feet. “Back.” Her nose scrunches. “Does that mean I need to lay on the floor? I mean, I will for the sake of competition, but this is not off to a good start.”
“I’ll do it.” When her brows shoot up in question, I shrug. “Teamwork, right?”
All around us, couples are getting into position. I spot Dom looking pained as he gets down on one knee and Sophia perches herself atop it. He’s going to wish he never came to Boston at this rate.
I lay down on my stomach, then feel Mina gently place her foot between my shoulder blades.
“Is this okay?” she asks. “I don’t want to put too much weight on you.”
Twisting my face so my left side is on the carpet, I try to twist my neck and catch her eye. “You’re good, koukla. So long as we never mention tonight to Vince or the guys.”
Sean comes around for round two. When he puts the hat at eye level for me, I’m convinced I’ve never seen a man look so close to pissing himself with laughter. I jam my hand in the hat, riffle around for the winning ticket, and pluck one out. Since I’m on the floor and practically out of sight from everyone else, I peek at my body part.
“Ah, fuck,” says the dude to my left, and I shift my attention over to him. When he sees me looking, he mouths, “penis.”
One guess as to who put that option in the hat. Starts with an S and ends with ophia.
Luckily for Mina and me, our choices are relatively simple this time around. She lowers onto all fours, so she can rest her right leg, from knee to foot, along my back, thus satisfying right knee. Me picking out “back” for this round feels like a miracle and a half, especially when Penis over to my left is stuck pressing his pelvis to his partner’s ear.
“Oh, my God,” I hear his partner cry out, “this is so humiliating.”
Above me, Mina laughs so hard she snorts. “I can’t,” she gasps out, “oh, my God, Nick. You can’t see Dom—Don—but . . .”
My ears perk up. “But what?”
“He has—He has his—”
Another peel of laughter escapes her, and I shake my back to get her attention. “He has his what on her what?”
“His teeth on her thigh!” More laughter that jumbles her words, and I only catch “looks like he’s eating her” and “he’s miserable” before Sean’s back for round three.
The moment we scope out our next body parts, I curse under my breath. Obviously this is karma for laughing at Penis and Dom because I have zero idea how we’re going to pull this off. With my “left knee” and her “right boob” it’s almost impossible.
I attempt to bring my left leg up, so I’m sitting with my knee wide and bent at an angle. “You’re gonna need to lay down,” I say, “facing the opposite direction. Keep one leg touching me as you rotate or we’ve got nothing but shots in our future.”
Mina huffs as she rotates her body. “Did I ever tell you how bad I am at yoga?”
“I thought you were flexible?”
“I am,” she grunts out inelegantly, the top half of her body plunking forward. “I just don’t have balance. It’s a problem.” As though she jinxed herself, I feel her teeter, and I grind my teeth because, holy shit, she’s got herself some bony shins.
“Are we good?” I ask when she’s all settled in.
“Sure are.” One hand squeezes my ass. “I have a pretty good view. You win the Buttocks of the Year Award.”
Husky laughter escapes me. “Hey, we all got to be known for something in our lives.”
Couples begin losing in the time it takes for Sean to come around again. I hear shot glasses being slammed down on the table and a few roughly uttered, “Jesus, I hate Ouzo.”
“Can you see Dom?” I ask Mina.
“Not if you want to lose, Stamos. My boob is hereafter attached to your knee for the time being.”
God bless his NFL-player body. I hope Sophia isn’t scarring him right about now.
“Last round,” Sean tells me when he comes back. “There’s only three of you left standing . . . or, ya know, whatever it is you’re doing right now.”
Growing up, I never thought I’d find myself in a half-plank in a random manor restaurant at the age of thirty-two. Goes to show that life’s just one grand adventure after another. I wonder if Sean, who can’t be older than twenty, thinks we’re absolutely insane. He’s not wrong.
Mina wriggles above me. “Nick.”
I hold in a large breath. “Ermione.”
“I hate Sophia.” She flings her piece of paper in my direction, and I catch it as it flutters to the ground. In feminine script, someone’s written “chin.” I open mine, and don’t even bother to pretend this is going to work.
“I have Head,” I tell her. Neither of us are contortionists. “We don’t have time for you to remove three ribs, so unless you’ve got a master plan here, we’re out.”
“Dammit,” comes her throaty reply. “I don’t even know what the prize is and I’m feeling the loss of it already.”
I curl my spine like a cat, tipping her off and onto the floor. She rolls easily over onto her back, a grin of contentment on her face. Aware of the people all around us, I grip her hands and pull her up onto her feet. “There’s good news: now I know if I want to get creative in the bedroom, you’ll be able to rise to the occasion.”
Mina swats my ass. “Eighty-percent, Stamos. We’re back in that eighty-percent margin again.”
We are, but only because it’s easier to make a joke about sex than it is to come clean: that there is no one else I could have laughed tonight off with other than her. This weekend I need to tell her how I feel, and I only hope she feels the same in return.
34
Mina
We spend most of Saturday outdoors.
While the group heads to the ski slopes, Dom, Nick, and I rent fat-tire bikes that are created specifically to ride through the forest’s snow-dusted floor. With only the sound of our tires swooshing through the snow and the sounds of the whispering trees above us, the quiet hums in my veins.
Bethel feels like a thousand light-years away from Boston and Agape and Put A Ring On It and my parents. For the first time in years, it feels like I can breathe. In our little trio, Dom leads the pack while Nick pulls up the rear.
Last night at the Bethel Manor was pure insanity. Attached at the Hip was followed by a round of Sporkle, where we all had to pair up. When one person named a category, every person in the group had to name something that fit—like Family Feud but with drinking involved. Anytime I thought this can’t get any worse, it did, but I guess Sophia knows the human psyche well enough because by the end of the night, couples began to pair off.
Dom, clinging to my excuse from our arrival, bowed out when Sophia invited him to her guestroom for a nightcap. It was only after Nick and I climbed into bed, exhausted from the day’s activities, that his phone vibrated with a text from Dominic that read, If you hear a scream in the middle of the night, that’s me calling for help because Sophia kicked down my door.
We listened for approximately ten minutes and thirty seconds before rolling over and passing out cold.
“Taking a right up ahead!” Dom shouts back at us.
He swerves his bike, cutting around a sharp bend, and I follow next. Immediately I listen for the sound of Nick’s tires making the same turn. My shoulders only loosen and relax when I hear him whoop out his excitement.
The trees grow sparser as we ride and soon we’re treated to quick glimpses of the mountains through low limbs and thick trunks. My legs burn from the exercise, but I keep pedaling, enjoying the rush of the wind whipping my hair under my helmet. Every inhale is accompanied by the crisp scent of pine.
When we finally stop, it’s at a clearing along the side of a bluff. Maybe fifty feet below is the iced-over Sunday River, one of Bethel’s main attractions during the summertime months. One glance up at the horizon and the river is all but forgotten.
Rolling mountains span the width of my vision, and it’s so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, that I can’t help but clamber off my bike and let it fall into the snow. Two steps closer to the bluff’s edge and I plop down in the snow, beyond grateful that Nick convinced me to purchase snow pants when we were at the outdoors store yesterday. He sits down next to me now, not touching me but still close enough that I can feel his body heat.
“This is beautiful,” I exhale on a hushed breath, as though fearful that if I raise my voice anymore, I’ll disturb the tranquility.
Dom prowls close to the edge, peering over the side. “This view makes up for all the shit last night.”
“You mean you didn’t enjoy snacking on Sophia’s leg?” I tease, to which he only smirks in my direction before sitting down on the other side of me.
“Unfortunately, she’s neither my or Don’s type.” He packs the snow into an icy ball before tossing it from one hand to the other. “Not that she cares.”
Although I’m not sure it’s my story to tell, I snag the snowball during one of his throws and say, “She’s going through a nasty divorce. Not that she should pressure you, by any means, but I know this weekend is her way of trying to have fun and forget all the nonsense.”
He roughly releases a breath. “That makes us two peas in a pod, then.”
Bending his knees, Nick drops his elbows on them. “It’s only gonna get worse from here, DaSilva. They haven’t even started airing the show yet.” He digs his heels into the snow, pushing it into mini hills beneath the soles of his snow boots. “How long do you have before you have to go back to work?”
“Another week.” Dom forms another snowball and, without even asking if I want it, he passes it over to me. I was right—beneath all those black clothes and bad-boy attitude is a man who is keenly aware of those around him. I take the snowball, hurl my arm back, and let it sail over the side of the bluff. “There’s some shit going down with the Blades right now,” he continues, already packing me another snowball. “It’s a mess and Sports 24/7 is on it with this reality show the network is filming, Getting Pucked.”
I think back to the Blades players who attended Effie’s tour at the beginning of the month. “How big of a mess?”
“The captain’s retiring—or, rather, he’s flip-flopping on the decision. I don’t get involved in any of that, but if he does retire, the network wants to run a special on him exclusively. I’ll be roped into it somehow.”
Nick’s rough timbre cuts through the silence of the mountains. “DaSilva, man. Can I be honest?”
Another snowball comes my way, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a distraction for him: think about packing snow instead of whatever thoughts are running through his head.
Finally, he says, “Fuck it, go ahead.”
“I think you need a permanent change of scenery,” Nick says, right before he nails Dom in the shoulder with a snowball.
Caught in the crossfire, I dart out of the way and drop to my shins, quickly packing snowballs to launch one after the other. One smacks Dom in the middle of his back. Another I manage to aim at Nick’s hip, but he’s too limber on his feet and he dances out of the way—only to tackle me into the snow.
His sudden weight pumps the air right out of my lungs, and I come spluttering up. I hear Nick’s deep laughter just as I feel his damn nose collide with mine, his cold lips kissing me on the mouth. Familiar heat spirals through me, shaking off the chill of the mountains and the snow. I wrap an arm around the back of his neck, keeping him close, and it’s only when I pull back for air that I catch Dom off to the side.
He watches us with a somber expression, the rough edges that usually grace his aura now softened and sad. I recognize it all in a heartbeat—everything that he is was me before a crazy deal happened with the man sprawled on top of me.
* * *
“I promised you a fire.”
Lifting my chin from the bed, I fix my gaze on Nick kneeling before the fireplace, stoking the tiny flames. We opted against another night of shenanigans, and instead picked up dinner from the B&B’s onsite restaurant and ate in our room.
Whether the food was any good is beyond me—I spent most of my time trying to win my hand at UNO against Nick, who does not play fair. No sooner would he drop a Draw Two on me before slapping me with a Draw Four. By the end of the game, I had two stacks of cards because I couldn’t hold them all at once.
I prop my chin on top of my fist. “I’m glad we came this weekend.”
“Couldn’t have survived it without you, that’s for sure.”
His words make my pulse launch into a sprint even as they make my heart fill with dread—because under the teasing glint is a whole lot of hope, and I can’t get my mom’s words out of my head. They weigh me down like a sack of too-heavy barbells.
My parents’ relationship has always been so one-sided, and hearing her tell me that I need a man to take care of me—to keep me propped up like some rag doll who can’t handle her own business—sparks the restless panic within me. Are Nick and I lopsided? Are we balanced like Sarah and Effie or like his mom and dad? Or are we like my own parents, who, more often than not, are nothing but two souls coexisting in the same house?
Softly, I ask, “Do you think Dom will get over Savannah Rose?”
Lowering onto his butt, Nick uses the fire poker to shift around the logs. The light from the flames flickers across his face, casting his handsome features in a haunting, red shadow. “He will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s what he’s done his entire life.” Nick puts the poker back in its wrought-iron stand. “He’s a foster kid, Mina. Dom’s spent his entire life bouncing from one safety net to another, and then when he was in the NFL, he exchanged foster homes for teams.” He scrubs one hand over his jaw like he finds the words themselves distasteful. “One of the things they did on the show was force us to reveal one big, deep, dark secret, and that was his. It’s a TV manipulation tactic, something I didn’t really think about until they were forcing me to talk about Brynn.”
“Oh. What did you . . . what did you tell them?”
With the fire crackling, I have to strain my ears to hear the low pitch of Nick’s voice when he speaks next. “Maybe you should ask me what I didn’t tell them.”
I slip off the bed, down to my knees on the thin carpet. I keep my voice as soft as his. “What didn’t you tell them?”
“That when I was laying in that bed with you, I felt nothing but relief.”
My heart skips. “Relief that you didn’t marry Brynn?”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “Relief that when I was at my lowest, I wasn’t alone. You were there. I don’t even know why you came to my room or how you knew that I needed you.”
To open up now would bare my soul in a way that I never have before—not with anyone. And I hear the words escaping me, as though my heart and mind are on two separate wavelengths, one seeking to protect me and the other to expose me. “I was leaving the ceremony when I saw you dart up the stairs.” Embarrassment clogs my throat, and I cough into a balled fist to clear it. Here goes nothing. “I followed you up to where the choir plays because I liked you. You called me out on it weeks ago, and I won’t deny it. I followed because I cared more than I should have. You didn’t cry but you looked so . . . broken.” I stare down at my hands, unable to look him in the face. “I decided that I’d go to your room later. You needed a friend and I figured that, through my friendship with Effie, I was good enough to do the job.”
A bent finger hooks under my chin and lifts, so that I have no choice but to meet Nick’s gaze. “You were more than good enough for the job. I only wish that my grandmother hadn’t busted in—I don’t even know who she had to bribe to get the key—and turned shit completely backward for you.”
I force a grin. “I’ll have you know that I once thought about selling Bad Girl Mina T-shirts. I would have made a killing.”
Nick groans, his arms reaching out to pul
l me against him. Burying his face in my neck, he heaves out a heavy breath. “All these years, I wasted my time lookin’ elsewhere, koukla.”
Like sludge, guilt thickens in my veins until it’s hard to draw air into my lungs. Nick thinks he knows me, but the truth is I don’t even know myself. Do genetics really make a difference? I’ve always thought so, but Nick brought up a good point. Dominic DaSilva was raised in foster care—does that make him any less of who he is? I see a confident man who’s down for a good joke, even at his own expense. Yes, there’s a sadness to him—but who doesn’t have that?
I am who I am out of sheer will and determination to do more than what my parents ever expected of me. I’ve made mistakes, like the rest of the population, and I’ve celebrated triumphs and drowned my tears in cheap vodka. I’m no different, no worse off, than any other person combatting their own struggles.
“Can I show you something?” I voice the question into Nick’s bulky shoulder, and I mentally pat myself on the back for not sounding timid and scared.
He lifts his head. “What is it?”
“My own deep, dark secret.”
I clamber off his lap and crawl over to where I left my suitcase propped open. Sifting through my clothes, I search for my last-minute addition—my notebook from senior year of high school. I want to burn it, but I think, I need to show it to another person first.
35
Nick
“I’d like for you to read this.” At my curious stare, Mina’s honey eyes grow like saucers and she throws up a hand. “Not all of it, obviously. We don’t have the time—okay, we do, but it’s really not necessary. A lot of it is redundant, actually, though I guess that’s like saying that I’m redundant, which honestly . . . I’m not putting any of this well. Sorry.” She huffs out an awkward chuckle before mumbling, “I can point out the right dates to read. If you want.”
I take the notebook from her grasp, letting my fingers purposely brush hers. Holding the book close to the fire, I watch as the words flicker across the lined page. “If this tells me anything about you, Ermione, then I want to read it. Trust me.”
