On the Fence(28)

“Bring it.”

The redhead grabbed another chair. There were three of them and four of us. How did that work, I wondered, when we were odd-numbered like that? Hot Guy hovered by my side of the booth, and since I sat on the end, I scooted over and offered him the seat next to me. He took it. He smelled really good, like cherry ChapStick and something clean . . . laundry detergent, maybe.

“My turn,” Amber said. “Name two updo hairstyles.”

“Updo?” the first guy asked.

“Yes, hairstyles where your hair is up instead of down.”

“Ponytail,” Redhead said.

“Okay, I’ll count that. One more.”

“What’s that twisty one called?” the first guy asked.

They all shrugged. I had no idea what it was called either. It was sad that I was following their thought processes more than the girls’, who were laughing smugly.

“What about the librarian ball thingy?”

“A bun. It’s totally a bun. Next question.”

Antonia was quick with her question, as though she’d thought of it the minute she heard the game. “What is the sheer second skin we wear on our legs like pants?”

“Nylons,” Redhead answered without a second thought.

The other two looked at him and groaned.

“What?” he said. “I was in a play.”

“Then you should know all these answers.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, last question,” the first guy said, looking at Savannah. She pursed her lips together as though trying to think of something they would never guess. Then her eyes lit up. “Who wrote Pride and Prejudice?”

Everyone went instantly silent.

“A little help here,” the guy next to me said under his breath.

“Absolutely no idea,” I said.

“Shouldn’t all the girls in the group be able to answer the question as well?” he said aloud, calling me out.

“I assure you every girl will know the answer to that.”

I tried to give Amber wide eyes, telling her not to make any such assurances.

“Then if all of you can’t, we win by default?” he asked.

“You are such a punk,” I said, and he smiled, his eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, okay,” Amber agreed to his addendum.

I raised my hand in shame. “I don’t know the answer.”

The guys cheered, and Savannah huffed playfully and threw a wadded-up napkin at me.

“Sorry,” I said, holding up my hands to fend off the other napkins that came flying my way.

“So, what do we win?” Hot Guy asked.

“We get to hang out for thirty minutes,” the first guy said. “They weren’t going to give us the time of day.”

Hot Guy met my eyes. “Now we get the time of day?” My heart gave a flip.

“Apparently.”

“What does the time of day entail?”

I shrugged.

“Names, definitely names,” the first guy said. “And phone numbers,” he seemed to add on a whim.

“No way. You earned thirty minutes . . . and names. I’m Amber.”

“I’m Dustin,” the first guy said. Dustin had floppy blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He looked like a guy I played softball with a few years back.

“Antonia,” she said with a small wave.

“Savannah.”

I gave a head nod that I stopped short. “Charlie.”

Redhead waved. “I’m Luke and . . .”

He pointed to the guy sitting next to me and was about to say his name when Hot Guy looked straight at me and said, “I’m Evan.” Evan had beautiful olive skin and deep brown eyes.

“So where are you ladies coming from?” Dustin asked, and I turned my attention away from Evan and back to him.

“A makeup session,” Amber said at the same time I said, “Work.” I did not want to tell these guys what we’d been doing. I was embarrassed. If I could’ve convinced them we had been playing soccer with that much makeup on, I might’ve.

“We work with makeup,” Antonia said, covering for me.

It took a second to realize that these were guys, not my friends. Guys who were trying to pick us up, not ask us if we were interested in a pickup game. They weren’t looking to make fun of me.

“That’s what I meant,” I said. This brought lots of questions about what exactly we did. My eyes kept drifting to the game on the television as the guys asked the stupidest questions ever. The Cubs were down by one and it was the bottom of the ninth. I groaned when Castillo struck out, leaving only one more chance to score. And everybody knew Borbon was not a clutch hitter. Most people in this area were Giants fans, but we were A’s all the way, which was why I was voting for the Cubs.

“This is their last chance to score,” Evan said, pointing at the screen. “They have two outs.”

I almost said “Duh” but bit my tongue. Jerom’s voice echoed through my head: How hard is it to let a guy feel useful every once in a while? So instead I just nodded, because I couldn’t bring myself to say “Please tell me more.” But for some reason he must’ve thought that’s exactly what I meant, because he started explaining the game to me in layman’s terms, saying things like “The guys in the white shirts really need to put that ball over the fence and then they’ll be a shoo-in for the playoffs.” I almost said “Actually, they aren’t anywhere near making the playoffs this year, but at least it will end their three-game losing streak and let them win back a little dignity and some much-needed confidence.” But again, probably not letting him feel useful.