“Lucky guess,” Danial offered, always falsely humble in the face of being right.

“Shut up,” Alex shot back, not wanting his pity.

“I’m serious.” He smiled. “This is one of my best Jeopardy categories—North Atlantic Marine Life.”

“You are so obnoxious.” Alex could barely contain her grin, even as she feigned frustration. Being quick-witted was her favorite card to play in life, but she loved being bested by Danial—it meant they’d be going another round very soon.

“Calm down,” Paul chided, bumping her shoulder with his own. “I’m not getting banned from another place because you two can’t be civil.”

“They would never ban us,” Danial offered, arranging another forkful of his side salad. “And by the way, you should check your phone.” He winked.

At this, her heart sank, knowing what it meant. He smiled as she bent forward to grab her phone from her bag, the notification on her screen confirming exactly what she’d expected: it was her move.

Alex couldn’t remember who initiated that first game of chess—a game that never really ended, because the loser would immediately request a rematch. This time, Danial’s queen sacrifice had backed her into a brutal sequence she could see unfolding even from a brief scan of the board. Her remaining knight was already toast, likely followed by a series of increasingly painful checks. Her eyes flicked upward from the screen and she caught him studying her, a glinting, conspiratorial joy lighting his eyes.

“Okay.” Guy clinked his fork to his glass. “I need everyone’s attention, we need to talk logistics for tonight. Pregame at my place, we’ll say eight-ish, then we head to Conrad’s around ten.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul confirmed, saluting.

Despite himself, Guy blushed slightly before continuing. He was nearly six foot five, a Nordic god in his proportions and heritage, yet in front of Paul he melted into a nervous little boy. “Anyway, Paul and Alex are doing the liquor run, but I’m going to need help securing party favors. My guy had to move back to Florida.” He said the word Florida like it was prison—and honestly, it might have been.

Sophie pulled a prescription bottle from her bag, shaking it for effect like a tiny maraca.

“I’m not talking about your brother’s Adderall, Sophie.”

“Hey, fuck you.” She pointedly removed it from the table, placing it back into her bag with a muttered French curse.