Rules of Play (The Script Club 2)

“Understood.”

He cocked his head, studying me for clues in the dimly lit bar. My “idea” was infinitely more beneficial to him than it was to me, and George was no idiot. Any second now he’d ask what the catch was.

“It doesn’t seem fair to you.”

See?

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He twisted the edge of his ripped cape and nodded. “Okay, one game.”

“That’s the spirit!” I beamed, holding my hand in the air for a high five. “Don’t leave me hangin’, Murphy.”

He fist-bumped my open palm and pursed his lips as if to hide his smile when I shook my head in dismay, grumbling affectionately about dorks under my breath.

“You should still give me the full estimate. I don’t want to be unfair or take advantage of your largesse.”

I thanked the bartender for our new round of drinks before facing George, accidentally dragging my knee alongside his. Another rogue wave of awareness took me by surprise. I covered it up by sucking back half my beer.

I wiped the corner of my mouth and winked. “My large ass?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I want to be fair.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give you an estimate. This will be a completely transparent arrangement…and you’ll still have to pay for parts.”

“I understand. Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome. So what have you been up to lately? Catch me up, Murphy.”

“The usual…school, work, and various diabolical deeds,” he deadpanned.

“Wiseass. Play nice and tell me about outer-space shit. You must be graduating soon.”

George inclined his head. “I’ll have my master’s in two months, but I’m not finished. I’m starting a new program at Caltech this summer. According to Newton, I’m going to need more qualifications for the position I want at NASA.”

“What other classes do you need?”

“Well, I have my eye on two courses in extragalactic astrophysics,” he replied, brightening when the server set our appetizers and two small plates in front of us.

“What the fuck is that?”

He spread a napkin over his lap and helped himself to a couple of wings and one of the three sliders. “It’s the study of galactic objects beyond the Milky Way.”

“Like black holes and shit?”

“Yeah, exactly. I can get a large portion of the tuition subsidized, but it’s still going to cost me a buttload of dough.”

“I see. And buttload is a technical term?”

“It’s more of a scientific term,” he confirmed. “Like butthole.”

“Makes perfect sense.”

We snickered like idiots and ate in silence, content to let the overhead music and surrounding conversation take over for a minute or two. The bar was more crowded now. A middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit commandeered the seat next to mine. He greeted a posse of friends enthusiastically, accidentally pushing his stool into our space.

I scooted closer to George to give them room. He didn’t seem to notice or care that we still sat thigh to thigh, elbow to elbow. It should have been uncomfortable, but this corner felt like a bubble. And being with George was surprisingly…easy.

“You’re not as skinny as you used to be,” I commented out of the fucking blue.

“Thanks?”

“Do you still dye your hair weird colors?”

“Not lately. Too much personal expression is frowned upon in my department. My boss doesn’t like ultraviolet hair, graphic tees, or…if you can believe it, capes. Since this is a paid internship and a really great stepping-stone career-wise, I have to adhere to the rules. I don’t like the concept of conforming. I’ve let my hair grow out a bit, but that’s hardly rebellious. So apparently, I’m teetering toward being tragically boring as I approach my quarter-century mark,” George said around a bite of his slider.

“You? I don’t think so.” I snort-laughed. “Is this the same boss who thinks you’re after his girl?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“What are you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know. I told him I have a boyfriend. I’m hoping the idea will be sufficient to remove me from the equation.”

Whoa. What?

I furrowed my brow. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, I lied,” he admitted with a hiccup.

“Oh. Okay. And what happens when he finds out that you lied?”

“He won’t. In a perfect world, he’ll forget about it by morning.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Newton doesn’t care about my love life, Aiden. He just wants to make sure I’m not his competition. He mentioned something about helping him secure a date with Susie. I’m not sure how to do that. I may have to reread Cyrano for inspiration,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a great idea. I love Cyrano de Bergerac.”

George did a double take. “You’ve read Cyrano de Bergerac?”

I bit into a wing. “It’s the one where the guy with the big nose writes love notes and supplies sexy lines to a handsome guy who’s dull as a post, right?”