by Mia Scott
"You might want to call the leg factory for something to stand on because I don't believe you."
Seething, she shoved him back with as much force as she could muster, staggering his large frame back a few feet. His laughter mocked her the entire way back into the living room. She sat down on the couch with a huff and glared at Russell who was grinning happily at her over the coffee table.
"Hey, Lisha," Beau greeted tentatively.
Alisha hadn't even realized that Beau and Cristina had arrived. She softened when she looked at them and got up to give them each a hug. "Hi guys—so good to see you," she beamed, exchanging pleasantries with the couple.
Big emerged from the kitchen with a few beers in his hands and handed one to James and another to Beau before sitting down in the seat that Alisha had just vacated. He wiggled around a bit before he got comfortable. Then he leaned backwards, stretching his hand behind his neck.
Russell's smile widened. "Okay, now that we're all here, we'll get this show on the road. Oh, and we all have picked partners already, so Alisha, darling, you can partner up with Big." Her head snapped up and her eyes bore into his. He'd been the recipient of many a dirty look from both of his best friends over the years (whatever, he was delightfully devilish, and they couldn't handle it sometimes), but the look he was currently on the receiving end of was so scary and so apocalyptic that it even made him blanch (only on the inside of course).
"I already told you that I wanted to be Alisha's partner, Russell," Maggie quickly chimed in. The grateful smile from Alisha told her she was back in good graces.
"Yes," Russell drolly began, "but you seem to have forgotten Game Night-a-go-go 2006." He turned dramatically to the new members in the group to explain. "You see, three years ago we—"
"Russell!", Maggie spat. "No one cares."
He sniffed, his nose high in the air and smoothed his bangs. "My point," he smoothly began, "before I was so rudely interrupted, is that you and Alisha are banned from being partners because you cheat."
Alisha and Maggie shared an amused look and burst out laughing because it was true. "Fine," Maggie relented. Hey, she tried. At least her current roommate wasn't mad at her anymore.
"Grab a seat! We're starting," he ordered to Alisha.
With a menacing smile and a hand gripping his shoulder like a vice, she leaned over Russell so only he could hear her. "One day, Hummel. One day, when you least expect it, I will be there, and I will pay you back for this. It will hit you so hard and so fast and so unexpectedly that you will wish on all that is good and Beyoncé that you never messed with me in this impertinent manner. Capice?" She stood up and patted (lightly slapped?) the side of his face a few times, pleased when she saw the flash of fear in his wide eyes.
Turning, she found six pairs of eyes staring at her expectantly, like she was about to unleash the hounds of hell on the room. Sighing, she resigned herself to just getting lost in the fun of game night even if she had to partner up with Captain Caveman. Besides, she thought as she grabbed her wineglass off the table and took the seat next to him (demurely scooting her body as far away as possible without appearing overly obvious), how bad could it be?
It just so happens that Jake Biggerman? Is shit fucking awful at Pictionary. Either he was messing with her (entirely plausible) or he was a total moron (also likely). Alisha knew she wasn't an artiste by any means, but, come on—the word was "camel" and when he shouted out "tits" she wanted to pick up the easel and brain him with it. Her camel looked nothing like a pair of breasts. Honestly!
Admittedly, she was overly competitive. Her friends had bestowed the nickname Monica upon her, in light of her Monica Gellar-Bing – you know, the girl from the Friends TV Show that always went ballistic whenever she was faced with a challenge - tendencies that always emerged during game night. She wasn't the least bit offended.
She Adam a hand with a diamond ring on the third finger and pointed excitedly to it, because, hello, the word was 'diamond ring' and that was so easy even a knuckle scraper like him could figure that out.
"Ball and chain," he called out, cracking everyone else up in the room but Alisha.
"TIME!" Russell called.
"Ugh!" She ripped the used sheet of paper and wadded it into a ball, hurling it at his head. "Diamond ring, you idiot!"
"My statement stands." He shared a quick glance with James who shook his head disappointedly even though his lips were fighting back a smile. Alright, so he was being unnecessarily ass-y. But Alisha's frustration with him was funny as hell—and more than a little sexy. She was so easy to rile up that it really shouldn't be fun, and yet he just kept poking away at her buttons.
He wondered what she was like in the sack, and not for the first (or tenth) time. Would she be tame and lame or funky and spunky? He'd already born witness to her flexibility (thank you, Chicago), and with her temper and flair for drama, he was pretty sure that she'd be wild.
Alisha sat back down on the couch and her lips fell into a pout. This was without a doubt the worst game night ever. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of head (her newly acquired smirkometer sparked to life, so she knew what expression he wore) and she slanted him a sideways glance, an eyebrow arched in question.
"Are you actually pouting?" he asked as Beau and Cristina took their turn.
"I'm very competitive and seeing as how we're currently in last place due to your complete inadequacy, yes, I suppose I am. You are the worst partner ever."
"Depends on the game, baby," he said suggestively.
"Don't baby me, you arrogant, sycophantic jackass. And call me crazy, but your constant allusions to sex sound an awful lot like overcompensation to me."
His brows Adam together and the muscles in his jaw twitched. Was she serious? "Are you questioning my badassness?"
Alisha snorted. "I've yet to see examples of said badassness," she said sharply, making air quotes, "so the answer is yes." He frowned. That made her smile. He got up and walked (stomped) to the kitchen. She laughed.
Maggie slid down the couch after James went to grab a beer and rested her head on Alisha's shoulder. "Still mad?"
She pursed her lips and considered her friend, who was currently making sad puppy dog eyes at her. "Not at you. Our supposed best friend over there though is another story."
"James's so cute, Lisha," Maggie whispered, her cheeks blossoming with color. "We're going on our first date this weekend," she beamed.
"Awww!" Alisha smiled. "You're so in like," she teased in a sing-song voice.
"I think I really am," Maggie sighed. "He's so sweet and he makes me laugh."
Alisha was thrilled for her friend and wrapped and arm around her and gave her a friendly squeeze. "I'm so happy for you. You deserve to have a nice guy who adores you."
"So do you, Lisha." She felt Alisha's sigh and sat up. "You do," she repeated, meeting her eyes. "Put that fucktard behind you once and for all. It's time to move on."
"I have," Alisha protested weakly.
"No, sweetie, you haven't. Moved on, that is," she said softly, squeezing her hand. "It's time to get back out there—meet someone new." Her eyes looked towards the kitchen where James and Big were laughing about something. She wasn't sure what had implored her to have James invite Big to the game night, but even though Alisha was all but ready to murder him, she thought that this could be the beginning of something very interesting between them. The fact that Alisha was so bothered by him was pretty telling. But she kept those observations to herself because a) Alisha was no longer mad and b) she rather enjoyed her head being attached to her body.
"Time for the next round, darlings," Russell trilled across the room.
Alisha tried to humor herself by thinking up ways in which to pay Russell back. She was nothing if not creative. She frowned at her empty wineglass and stood up from the couch. "I need a refill and to round up my worthless partner. Need anything?" she asked Maggie.
"Brownies!"
She laughed and walked towards
the kitchen where Big was of course blocking the entry. His agenda was to annoy her, evidently. "Excuse me," she said curtly.
Big turned and looked down at the spitfire in the doorway. Christ, she was tiny. "Sorry, partner," he drawled, making room for her to pass. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the wine bottle on the counter, pouring a healthy (read: full to the very top) glass. He saw her reach for a knife and for a second considered that she might turn around and stab, or at the very least cut, him. Instead she used it on the pan of brownies he'd spotted earlier.
Alisha ignored his presence to the very best of her ability as she opened one of the cabinets and looked for a decorative plate for the dessert. Spying one on the top shelf, she stood on her tip toes and tried vainly to reach it.
The look of determination on her face and the way she tried to stretch every inch of her petite frame to reach the plate made him grin. He also appreciated the glimpse of bare skin he got when her soft sweater (he knew it was soft because he accidentally totally on purpose brushed against her on the couch to see if it was really as soft as it looked) rode up.
He stepped behind her and grabbed the plate off the shelf, holding it out for her. "There you go, Shorty," he said, chuckling when she jumped.
Glancing over her shoulder, she found him standing entirely too close and looking down at her with mischief swirling amusedly in his eyes. "Shorty?" she asked, one eyebrow arched high and grabbed the plate from his hands.
Big laughed lowly. "It fits—you're short."
"I'm petite," she corrected.
"And nicely packed," he added with a sly grin.
"Are you always so sleazy?" she asked with a roll of her eyes as she turned back to the task of plating the brownies.
"Are you always so uptight?" he tossed back. "It was a compliment."
"Thanks, I guess," she said dryly, picking up the plate of brownies and her glass of wine. "Let's just go out there and get the humiliation over with so you can go home. Okay?"
"What's wrong, Larrington? Not enjoying my company?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, blocking her way.
She smiled tartly, angling her head to look up at him. When she leaned in, he smirked. "You're not very quick on the uptake are you, Big?" she whispered condescendingly. Skirting around him, she carried the brownies out to the living room where the next game (ass kicking embarrassment) was about to begin.
The last game was a homemade version of Catchphrase that had become a necessity after a few game nights and Alisha, Maggie and Russell had nearly memorized all the words. So the new game consisted of words written on tiny pieces of paper that were put into a New Kids on the Block bowl that Russell had found.
Maggie and James went first, with James giving the clues. Alisha laughed at some of James's clues and smiled when Maggie was able to guess them. They were kind of adorable, so she didn't begrudge their early lead. And really, who was she kidding? She and Big were going to get dead last anyway.
Russell and Adam were up next and managed to get eight words in their time limit. Normally she would have given him a well done, sir but she was still mad, so he got nothing. Okay, so he got a look of disdain when he taunted her and informed them that they were up next.
Alisha looked at Big, who was sipping his beer. "I'll just go first," she sighed, getting up off the couch. She was a sore loser.
She waited until Russell gave the signal and then reached into the bowl for her first word. "Okay, Piano Man, Uptown Girl and Keeping the Faith are all…"
"Billy Joel songs," Big said, putting on his game face.
Alisha was pleasantly surprised that he didn't have a smart-ass comment, but pressed on, hoping to at least have a better showing than the Pictionary round. "Made with gin or vodka—James Bond likes his shaken, not stirred."
"Martini."
"Yes!" She grabbed another clue. "Oh," she snapped her fingers excitedly. "Your band's name."
"Fire Extinguishers," he grinned.
"Yes!" They were on a roll and with her clues, Big guessed Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, The Declaration of Independence, ménage a trois (she died a little having to give that clue), Simon and Garfunkel, Taco Bell and black and white photography.
"Time's up," Russell called. "You got nine," he said, his lips pursed.
She looked over at Russell and told him to suck it, then clapped excitedly as she all but skipped back to the couch with a brilliant smile on her face. "Good job," she said, holding her hand up for a high five.
Big slapped her hand with his and smirked up at her happy face. "You too, Shorty." When she didn't roll her eyes, or come back with a snide retort, he figured he'd made some progress. As much fun as he had getting an angry rise out of her, making her smile like that was even better. (And only because he really wanted to fuck her—not because he was developing feelings and shit. Hell to the no.)
Alisha sat next to him and they laughed at some of the other clue attempts from the rest of the group. At one point, she turned and gave him a questioning look because of something James had said. He shrugged and gave her a look that said yeah, I know, he's my boy and all, but he's kind of an idiot. They had developed some sort of game night camaraderie and that was pretty cool.
It was their turn again and they needed eight words to beat Russell and Adam. Alisha raised her brows like please don't fuck this up because I'd really like to win so I can hold it over my gay friend's head. He just smirked and said, "I got this."
She watched as he practically swaggered across the living room and felt a strange flutter in her stomach. He was seriously, ridiculously hot and even though he'd managed to pull his head out of his ass for one round of game night, he was still an arrogant jerk and not someone she wanted to involve herself with. But since she was just having this little thought stream in her head, she'd admit that he was mighty easy on the eyes.
"Ready, go," Russell called.
Big grabbed a word from the bowl and grinned when he read it. "Brand of sweet, disgusting, kosher wine."
"Manischewitz!" Alisha called excitedly.
He nodded and read the next clue. "Ugh, annoying chick with the dreads that was in Ghost."
"Whoopi Goldberg."
"Yup. Bruce Springsteen song. Show a little faith there's magic in the night. You ain't a beauty but hey, you're alright," he sang.
"Thunder Road," Alisha said, something warm twisting in her belly from hearing that baritone voice come out of his mouth.
They'd managed to get four more words and only needed one more to win the game. Well, Beau and Cristina still had to go, but they needed something close to a thousand to win, so Big wasn't at all worried. He looked at the word and up at Alisha, wondering if she'd be able to guess this one. "Football—best QB in the NFL. He—"
"Peyton Manning!" Alisha shouted and looked at Big expectantly.
"Time!" Russell called.
Big grinned and turned the word around for Russell to read. Printed neatly on the slip of paper was Peyton Manning.
When Russell's face fell, Alisha squealed delightedly and jumped up and down, doing a little victory dance that Big found cute as hell. She ran over laughing and high fived him again before rushing off to flaunt their win in Russell's face.
He didn't get a chance to talk to her again until later because she and the other girls (and Russell) had a powwow in the dining room while the guys bowled on the Wii and drank beer. After Cristina and Beau left, he escaped the living room because the goo-goo eyes James and Maggie were making at each other were turning his stomach. He found Alisha in the kitchen sitting on the counter laughing with Russell and Adam.
Russell looked over and exchanged a quick look with his boyfriend once he spotted Big. It made no difference to him that he'd just gotten Alisha to forgive him. He'd noticed a definite something during game night and he would at the very least help his friend take that fireman for a spin. She'd thank him eventually. "Time for us to jet, Delicious," he said, a wily smile twisting his lips.
Al
isha leaned down and kissed his cheek and got a hug from Adam. "See you later, favorite men of mine," she said affectionately and waved. She looked up and saw Big watching her from the doorway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his faded jeans. Her cheeks were hot again, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the wine she'd been drinking. "Hey," she greeted casually, taking a gulp from her glass to quiet whatever was sparking to life inside as his eyes held hers.
"Hey," he flashed a lopsided grin.
"Brownie?" she asked, picking up the plate next to her on the counter.
He walked over, grabbed one of the chocolate-y treats and bit off half. "So," he began after he polished off the brownie, "Peyton Manning?"
She licked the chocolate from her thumb and nodded. "I like football—mostly the Colts."
He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Never would have pegged you as a sports fan."
"You don't know me," she reminded him.
"You're really competitive," he said with a half-smile.
She smiled easily at him then. "That's true."
"It's kinda hot," he said, his voice gruff.
"You know what," she began, hopping down off the counter, "don't ruin my winning high by opening your mouth and saying something disgusting. Sound good?"
He laughed and grabbed his remaining beer from the refrigerator. "Fair enough, Shorty."
"Stop calling me that," she told him, though her tone didn't quite match the statement.
Big just shrugged, looking amused. "You gonna come check out Fire Extinguishers with Maggie next week?"
Alisha pressed her lips together and considered. She had to admit that she was completely intrigued to hear him sing after hearing those measly two bars during the game. "I don't know. Is there any Springsteen in your set list?" she inquired coyly, taking another drink from her wine.
He'd given her a tiny taste of Biggerone's vocal styling and she wanted more. With a shit-eating grin on his face he replied "Maybe." Totally.
"Well, maybe I'll see you play sometime." She grinned, her eyes dancing. It was the wine. It had to be the wine. It absolutely was not that sexy dimple just above his chin.