“Losers whine, winners get to dance with Max,” Silas says.
Three rounds later, I stare at my palm. “Wow.”
“Damn it!” Finn shakes his fist. “You’re just lucky.”
“Hah. Pure skill.” Lucky? He has no idea. My luck isn’t that great—the woman I’ve been thinking about for twelve years barely registers my existence.
“I was going to go with scissors…” Finn’s tone is mournful since he was so close to winning.
“At least you just made a lot of money at work,” I say to soothe his pain. He hates losing.
“How do you know?”
“Call it a wild guess.” I slap his shoulder, then head over to claim my prize.
“You guys are hilarious,” Max says with a laugh in her eyes as we walk onto the dance floor. “Rock paper scissors? Seriously?”
“We aim to amuse.”
The quartet plays the jaunty melody from “Cheek to
