There was one other problem. Even though I’d told Dean I didn’t care about winning whatever the game was, I was a liar. When we had games day during our family reunions growing up, I became a little bit infamous for getting way too competitive and making sure I won everything. The words “cutthroat” and “ruthless” were even tossed around when people thought I wasn’t listening.

Okay, there wasn’t just one other problem. I also had stage fright. Every step we took closer to the stage made my airways feel like they were closing up–an invisible fist tightening around my insides until I was breathing through a coffee straw.

Dean had my hand in his and I was too distracted to pull mine out. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could’ve made the walk up on my wobbling legs without the support.

Once we were on stage and the woman was explaining the game–some sort of “how well do you know your partner” style trivia game with the addition of a few silly physical games–Dean seemed to notice how I was feeling.

“Hey,” he whispered, bending to bring his face close to mine. “You alright?”

I shook my head quickly. “No. I’m freaking out. They’re all staring at us.”

He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, and it actually helped a little. His other hand went to my back, rubbing a soothing circle. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you, okay?”

I nodded, hating how much better I felt with his assurances. But it was hard not to believe him. Dean seemed to walk through life with the confidence that he could handle anything thrown his way. He was confident beyond all reason or sense, and as irritating as that had been up until now, for once I was glad to have him at my side.

Although he was the one who got us into this mess, I thought.

The first round of the game had us sitting back to back in chairs someone had borrowed from the lobby. Each couple had their own little space, and my chair was turned so I was pointed toward Lizzie, who gave me a giddy smile and wave. She loved this sort of thing, too.

Bitterly, I thought how she probably would’ve been exactly the kind of girl Dean liked. He’d love how fun-loving and ready for adventure she was. Lizzie never said “no” to a good time, and she was actually pretty enough to believably date a guy like Dean. The two ladies hosting the event were explaining the rules while I was wondering if Dean had already noticed how pretty Lizzie was. Of course he had. Every guy I’d ever met noticed Lizzie. It was impossible to miss her.

I was handed a card with three questions. I was given a pencil and told to fill out the answers, and from what I gathered, the hosts were going to read our responses and our “significant others” would tell the crowd how many we got right.