Page 68 of Blame it on the Bet
“I do.”
“Then maybe you should’ve called to see. Or, better yet, walked the fifty feet from your office to the pub.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, hoping my earnest face is earnest enough.
At last, she cracks a smile, unable to resist my charm another second. “I’m sorry, I didn’t really know what to say after…”
“The kiss,” I finish.
“Yeah, that,” she affirms, her cheeks suddenly flushing a lovely shade of pink.
“That’s okay. Maybe it was just one of those things,” I offer. “But, then again, maybe it wasn’t.”
She rolls her eyes at me in annoyance. “We should talk sometime soon, okay?”
“I’d like that,” I agree.
“Okay, then. I’ve got a quiz to run,” she says, straightening and turning to leave my table. When she’s a few feet away, she stops and turns back to me.“Good luck, Bryan.”
I get the distinct impression she’s not just talking about the quiz.
…
After nearly two hours, our team is in a three-way tie with the Senior Citizens Association team and the team from the university. I take a long pull on my beer—I’d stopped counting how many I’d had after five. And the shot of vodka. And whatever that weird, cotton-candy flavored drink was. Needless to say, I’m a little fuzzy on the details as we roll into the final question. Behind me, Jameson and Bailey are roaming from table to table, on the lookout for contraband cell phones and cheat sheets.
“All right, then, last question,” warns Julie Freddino, the Knitty Kitty lady and celebrity quizmaster. “Got your thinking caps on? Or, was that drinking caps?” She grins slyly, and a raucous cheer goes up. As for herself, Miss Freddino is wearing a pussy hat, a knit hat with cat ears poking up from the top, over her long purple hair.
“Here we go. Remember, no shouting out answers to the competitors, please,” she reminds the spectators after an unfortunate incident involving an imitation of the state bird that got the Mayhem Teachers team disqualified. “Your final question, for the win. Which animal is it illegal to tease in the state of Minnesota?”
Holy. Crap. I actually, honestly know the answer to this question, even as my teammates are scratching their heads. I ring the bell in the middle of the table, and all eyes swing
in my direction. Cat Lady makes her way to me with the microphone.
“You think you know the answer, Mr. L.A.?” she asks me with a hint of disdain on the two letters.
“Yes…?”
“You don’t sound so sure about that. Have you consulted your teammates?”
I look around the table. The five of them are staring at
me.
“Noooo,” I admit.
She quirks a steeply arched eyebrow at me.
“Well, for your sake, I hope you’re right. Because if you’re wrong, you’re about to get them knocked out of the running,” she reminds me. “And you know what that means…” She uses a black-nailed finger to simulate someone slitting my throat.
“No pressure though, right?” I quip, sounding more shaky than confident.
“Well, Mr. Smarty Pants L.A. guy, what say you to the question ‘which animal is it illegal to tease in the state of Minnesota?’”
“The skunk,” I announce loud and clear.
There’s a murmur through the pub as some people nod while others shake their heads. The seniors’ team looks smug, as if they’ve already won.
Cat Lady looks at her card, looks back at me then grabs my hand, raising it in the air as if I’ve just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The team from the Basilica of St. Mary of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mayhem!”
