Best Friend's Ex Box Set

I wanted to take this opportunity to make the prize not only well worth winning, but an excuse for us to spend more time together. How could I resist making a prize that would ultimately force her to want to be around me more? In my mind, win or lose, I was going to be a winner in this situation.

“I’ve got it,” I said, pointing at her. “Whoever loses has to the winner’s servant for an entire evening. So basically, when you lose, you have to wait on me hand and foot for an entire night.”

“You mean, when you lose, you’ll have to wait on me the whole night?”

“Semantics,” I said, waving my hand and ignoring her laugh. “The servant will have to cook dinner for the winner and clean up afterward. What is the point of having someone cook your dinner if you have to force yourself to be the dishwasher after? I’d personally rather just get takeout.”

“True,” she said, putting her hand to her chin. “Which house?”

“Winner’s choice, of course,” I said.

“Of course,” she replied, pacing back and forth and looking down at the ground.

She stopped and looked up at me, cocking an eyebrow and thinking. I loved when she got into this mode. I never knew what was going to pop up. She had a really good mind for these kinds of things, which was probably why I was glad that I made up the rules, especially since I wasn’t positive that I was going to win. The last thing I wanted was to be dressed like a chicken, running around the campus with no pants on. She was devious. I couldn’t let those pretty blue eyes fool me.

“I don’t know,” she said. “That seems pretty tame for a servant.”

“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The lady is disappointed with the winner’s pot.”

I paced back and forth, twirling my gold club around, nearly hitting her and smiling sheepishly. She lifted one eyebrow at me and watched me as I walked back and forth. I wanted to come up with something that would satisfy her, but still not result in me in some crazy getup, committing public acts of indecency. I took a deep breath and put out my hands as she sighed with annoyance.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Sheesh, woman. You are a hard one to please. How about this? The orders given to the loser, a.k.a., the servant, will be at the winner’s discretion.”

“Better,” she said. “All right, you start.”

I nodded my head and walked over to the ball, lining it up and wiggling my hips back and forth, glancing up as she giggled. With the first stroke of my club, we were off, competing for the ultimate prize, control over the other person for at least one evening. It turned out that Elana wasn’t lying. She was actually really good at mini-golf. I was starting to realize that the possibility of me losing was really high up there. She got ahead of me from the start, knocking pretty much every ball in after only her second putt. My palms were starting to get sweaty at the thought of being under control for an entire evening. It could turn out really good, or it could turn out really bad. It just depended on the mood she was in. I tried valiantly to come back from where I was trailing, but she was too damn good. I couldn’t even win one hole against her. It didn’t really matter to me; the time we were spending together was what was important.

“Your butt looks good when you wiggle it like that,” she said, laughing. “You better be careful. There are a lot of lovely, older ladies around here.”

“By older, you mean had lunch with Jesus?” I replied, looking around. “I do have to say, though, yours doesn’t look too shabby, either.”

“Maybe I’ll pick up one of these rich old men,” she whispered, elbowing me and raising her eyebrows.

“You would make a ravishing gold digger,” I replied with laughter.

We flirted pretty much the entire time we were playing, which was exactly what I was going for in the first place. When we reached the last hole, the tensions were high. I had to get a hole in one, and I still would only win if she royally screwed it up. I got up to the tee and took a whack, landing the ball only inches from the hole. I pumped my fist and smiled at her, watching her walk up and take aim. I walked ahead on the sidewalk and bent over, clearing my throat and pretending to tie my shoe. She stifled her laugh and took in a deep breath, pulling the putter back and hitting the ball. We stood frozen, watching as it bounced over the fake putting green, hitting the corner, rolling quickly across, bouncing off the backside, and then finally, inching closer and closer to the hole.

“No way.” I grimaced as it reached the lip of the hole.

“Yes,” she said, putting her hands in the air as she watched the ball plummet into the bottomless eighteenth hole.

“All right,” I said, putting my head down. “I admit defeat.”

Elana laughed as she ran around me in circles, chanting her own name and holding her putter high above her head. I watched as she danced to the sound of the terrible instrumental playing over the loudspeaker, making fake screaming crowd noises and bowing to everyone around her. Finally, out of breath, she walked back over and slapped me on the shoulder.

“You gave it your best, servant,” she said, smiling.

“Please, just have mercy on me,” I said, walking toward the shack to turn in my club. “I’m not much of a cook.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.” She chuckled. “You’re probably a regular Martha Stewart.”

“If Martha Stewart enjoys warm pop tarts and anything that doesn’t have to be cooked outside of the microwave,” I said, “then, yes.”

“Why would you suggest it as the winning pot then?” She shook her head, laughing as she handed over the putter to the guy behind the desk and took the scorecard from me. “I do have to say, I may frame this.”

“I dunno,” I said, shrugging. “I just thought I would win.”