He holds his card up. “Why would I choose to go from making $60k as a waiter to only $40k making cheese?”
I laugh. “It’s the hipster way. Besides, I’ll have you know that someone gave Queen Victoria a giant wheel of cheddar cheese that weighed over 1,000 pounds as a wedding gift. If it’s good enough for the Queen, it’s certainly a respectable job for you.”
“Pfft. I think I like the original game better,” he grumbles.
“Don’t hate the game, hate the player,” I tease.
I say that because I’m winning.
“I could never hate you,” he volleys back in a husky tone that sends my pulse racing through my veins. “Even if you’re kicking my ass.”
I am so kicking his ass. In this game of life, although twice divorced, the game gods have blessed me with good luck. My debt-to-income ratio is phenomenal.
To recap—
Me:
Occupation: Assistant to the Assistant Manager, $40,000 annually
House: Tree House, Rent: $20,000 a year
Side hustle: Podcast Host
Austin:
(New) Occupation: Artisanal Cheesemaker, Salary: $40,000 annually
House: Starter Home, Rent: $40,000 a year
Side hustle: Alpaca Farmer
We continue on life’s twisted path, and Austin’s side hustle is the only thing keeping him afloat. Besides his astonishing good looks, obviously.
“Pay up,” I say when he spins a three, which is the designated number for me to get paid $20,000 for my side gig. “Ah, it feels good that I’m getting closer to climbing out of my debt.”
I make a gimme signal with my hand, which he ignores. Instead of giving me my payday, he makes love to his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, caressing it across the slight swell of it, dark eyes studying me from under lids stationed at half-mast. “I have a proposition for you. How about we make a trade?”
“What kind of trade?” If he says sex, I am not strong enough to resist.
“I’ll be a guest on your show and tell your viewers all about the many wonders of cheese. I’ll make cheese sexy again.”
If anyone can do it, he can.
“I must have missed its sexy phase.”
“Cheese can be very sexy.” So can he. “It can be hard or soft. It melts and stretches—”
I squirm in my spot on the floor and shake my head to disperse the dirty thoughts. “That’s tempting, and thank you for your generosity, but nope.”
“How about a snuggly pair of socks, spun from the softest alpaca hair on earth?”
“Softest on earth, huh?” I take a sip of wine. “That’s a mighty big claim.”
His brow arches with innuendo. “It is big.”
Throughout the game, he’s flirted and twice, I’ve wanted to shove the board off the table and pounce on him. It’s overwhelming and heady to be the object of his desire.
“Hm.” I do love socks…and also the way he’s looking at me right now with his eyes full of sexual promises I want to see if he can keep. “Again, it’s tempting, but I’m raising five kids in my treehouse, and just got divorced again so I don’t know if mommy needs a new pair of alpaca socks.”
“I’ll make all the babies pairs too. And furry coats to keep their tiny plastic bodies warm.” To tempt me further, he reaches beneath the coffee table where we sit on opposite sides, and whispers his fingertips along my bare foot. “You can come over to my starter home…the kids can play with the alpacas, and I’ll slip them on you myself.”
“I’m not sure that’s allowed. What if they spit on the babies?”
“We can make our own rules. While you’re enjoying your new foot-huggers, I’ll even give you the moon”—my heart lurches against my chest that he remembers our conversation from so long ago—“made from the very best cheese.”
Damn. I don’t even care if it’s made from clabbered milk; I want the moon.
“Okay.”
Even though I have accepted his bribe, he continues to massage my foot, working his thumb along the sole to the heel until I can barely think straight.
“Did you know Milton Bradley created the game to teach children about ethics?” I say as Austin thumps the spinner, sending it whirring in a circle.
“Interesting. I didn’t know that. I figured it was to teach you that money is the answer to all your problems.”
“If only,” I say. Not that I have enough of it to test the theory.
He finally removes his hand from my foot to drive his purple car along the path and lands on a spot where he must choose whether to get married.
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “I want a wife.”
He says it with such conviction, my hand trembles as I hand him his tiny plastic bride. “Congratulations. May all your days be joyous.”
As he places the pink peg in the seat beside him, I can’t help but imagine it’s me.
“Wait,” he says, “we can’t marry each other?”
Oh God, he’s mind-reading. I nearly choke on my chip, but thankfully it saves me from blurting out yes.
“You okay?”
I nod and reach for my glass of wine to guzzle a large gulp before taking my turn.
“Yasss,” I say when I land on a space to upgrade my job to a pro-gamer, doubling my income.
“Now you’re just rubbing your superiority in my face,” he says.
Oh, how I’d love to rub things on his face. But I can’t. I won’t. Not until I talk to Logan.
Austin finally hits the baby space, and this is where life really takes a u-turn.
“You should hope for one child,” I say, “because I don’t know if you can afford more than that.”
When you land on the babies spot for the first time, you spin the wheel to see how many you’ll get, but if you stop on that space again, you have to pay $20,000 per kid for daycare.
“I want at least three.”
“I thought you didn’t want any kids at all?”
“I didn’t want kids with Lucy.” He dazzles me with an earnest grin. “The future looks different now that I have a pink peg.”
His words are all I think about as I finally win the game. Now, if I could just win in my real life.
Life is really just a series of events that happen to you. One day, I’ll learn not to over-prepare and overthink situations.
“I’m more of a people person,” Dominic says on our Zoom call, rendering all of my preparation for this interview useless. “So, I don’t follow the traditional interview route.”
I’d already guessed that based on the virtual mountainous background with horses surrounding his mustached dark head. It’s like he’s in the Wild West and may challenge me to a duel at any moment.
“I like people too,” I say, which may or may not be true, but seems an appropriate response.
“I’m going to do something off the cuff to get a feel for you. Let me see what background you choose. Take a few minutes and select what you think fits your personality best.”
Well, this is awkward. “Oh, ha. I’ve already selected a background.” The neat room behind me isn’t mine. “I kind of liked the furniture and art in this one.”