Page 31 of Double Dared
A tired dungeon master proceeded to recite, “Dud rolls a one for luck. It’s multiplied by a hundred from when he fell into a luck pot as a baby, and all the arrows seemingly slide off his greasy, green skin. Shiny Knight lives to fight another day.”
Laughter shook the walls of the nerd den. Bennet’s voice cut through it. “Shiny Knight pets Dud on the head.”
I knocked then before hearing any more of it. The last thing I wanted to hear was Dud the Cave Troll dragging his Shiny Knight into a nearby cave and making love. Barf. Not that I was against trolls and humans getting together. I was just in my anti-love mood.
Someone shouted for me to come in, so I did. “Am I interrupting?” I asked.
Jason looked at his phone and got up. “Nah, we just finished.”
“Let’s go drink, then,” I said.
Jason tapped Bennet’s shoulder, and Bennet stood up.
“You’re all invited,” I clarified.
Bennet’s friends looked at each other with growing frowns and made up excuses one after the other. Bennet, too, wavered and broke. “I’ll drink with you at the cookout. How’s that?”
“If you swear it on the blood of your ancestors,” I said.
Bennet crossed his heart. “May they never find peace if I flake.”
“What about you?” I asked Jason.
“Come on, man,” he said, incredulous that I would even doubt him. “You know I’ve got your back.”
It was nice to hear a reminder of that, even if I knew it.
The night was warmer than it had any right to be for this time of year, that false-spring warmth that showed up occasionally like an uninvited guest who didn’t read the room. I unzipped my jacket before we’d even cleared the Thinkers’ House lawn. Jason left his fully open, hands loose at his sides, walking with that particular ease of someone who never needed to decide what to do with their body.
Jason said something about the cookout, and Imade a sound of agreement. Ahead of us, the street opened toward the strip of bars and late-night places that existed specifically for people who needed somewhere to be. The lights bled orange onto the sidewalk. Music from somewhere, competing basslines, neither of them winning.
I wanted a drink the way you want something when you can’t name the actual thing you want. A placeholder. Jason held the door, and the noise came out warm and stale and familiar, and I walked into it like I’d been doing it my whole life, which was close enough to true.
Our usual booth was occupied and far too large to warrant two guys taking it on a bustling Friday night.
In fact, most places were occupied. Most except for a round table with three chairs in the corner, where Harrison had been reading Lord Tennyson on the night Greg had dared me to go over to him and ask him out on a date.
I hesitated only a little before realizing how pathetically ridiculous I was being. So I sat down and waited for Jason to bring over the first round. There was a thirst in me that only a good beer had a chance of quenching, but I wasn’t holding my breath while waiting for that to happen. The odds were slim.
My foot tapped the floor restlessly while I waited, and Jason appeared with two beers, calling me a little drummer boy because of it.
“Can’t believe everyone flaked,” Isaid. “Greg and Finn both just up and left before I had a chance to ask. Did I do something?”
“No,” Jason said. He tilted his head. “Did you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I’d been in a bit of a mood, but that just happened to people from time to time.
We drank, and the tangy bite of a cold beer did nothing that I’d hoped it would. I set mine down on the table. “What’s up with you? What’s keeping you busy?”
Jason groaned. “I’m counting the heads for the cookout all day today. Is Harrison in?”
I shrugged.
“Have you asked him?” Jason asked.
I noticed a loose thread on my sleeve and pulled it free.
“Dude,” Jason sighed. “I need to know how many people we’re feeding.”
