“But, see? That makes them perfect,” she laughs as three-legged Blackbeard tries to shimmy into her lap, nearly knocking her over backwards.

“Alright, guys. She’s had enough,” I say, adding a stern whistle to show I mean it. They disperse enough for me to pull her up, inadvertently bringing her close for a second time. She falls against my chest to get her balance.

“Marina, I messed up.” My breath catches on hers between us.

“Messed up?” Her brow pinches with curiosity, but we’re interrupted when the dogs go crazy over the sound of another car in my driveway.

She glances through the glass in the door. “It’s Marigold. And Gil.”

“Yeah, I know. I invited them,” I say, deciding to completely own my fuck-up. “I thought it’d be better this way.”

Confusion cuts through her smile, followed quickly by sharp disappointment. Her entire demeanor sinks, and she shifts away from me, literally taking two steps back.

“Oh, okay.” A strained smile pushes through. “Right, wouldn’t want me to get the wrong idea. Silly me. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

She’s out the door before I can argue or launch a defense. She greets Marigold with chipper enthusiasm, waving happily. “My favorite artist of all time! So glad we get to hang out. Gil, nice to see you. Looking handsome, as always.”

My brother blushes at the compliment, unsurely eyeing his dark jeans and fitted Zelda t-shirt. I’d asked him to make an effort, although our definition varies. Along with wearing clothes that fit and look nice on him, he even tamed his messy brown hair and wore his dark-framed glasses, highlighting his strong cheekbones and bold blue eyes. He goes in for a hug as she approaches, nestling her to him while eyeing me over her shoulder and smirking, the asshole.

But I deserve it. This was a shit idea.

They file into the house, greeting my rambunctious dogs. Gil hands me a bottle of wine, surely pinched from my parents’ collection since he doesn’t go to grocery stores.

“How thoughtful, Gil,” Marina coos. “Let’s crack that baby open. Oh, I brought something, too.” She picks up the bag she dropped at the door and holds it up. “It’s a game. Tic Tac Trivia. A twist on tic-tac-toe. You can’t take a square without correctly answering a question, and all the answers contain x’s or o’s or their phonetic sounds… If I’d known there’d be four of us, I would’ve brought a game we could all play at once.”

Her eyes cut to mine, but only for a second. She meant for us to play it—just me and her. Goddamnit!

“I love Marnie’s games,” Marigold says, taking the bag from her hands.

“Sounds fun,” Gil says, “but won’t you know all the answers?”