Role Playing(50)

He blinked. “Um . . .”

There was a reason he hadn’t connected with his ex-teammates, other than Riley. Not that he disliked them, per se. He just didn’t have a lot in common with them. When they were teens, they’d had football. Now they had . . . nothing, really. Other than living in Fool’s Falls.

The party was a done deal, apparently. More cars showed up, and within an hour, the house was packed with thirty people. Which, though well intentioned, still felt rude as hell.

That said, he couldn’t bring himself to be a dick and kick them all out, especially when Deb just kept being solicitous, making sure he had a drink or food or whatever.

He gritted his teeth. Who does this?

The thing was—he’d lived in the Falls long enough to remember this sort of thing happening. Hell, his mother herself had performed a similar intervention when her friend’s husband died. The woman had withdrawn, refusing to socialize, to her own detriment. His mother had then taken a posse of her church ladies, and they’d descended on the woman’s house like a tornado of cleaning, casseroles, and kindness. He knew, in his heart, that Deb was trying to do the same. She really did mean to be kind. The fact that she was attracted to him—he assumed?—was secondary.

That said, it was part of why he had a hard time living in Fool’s Falls. He was actually lucky he hadn’t gotten the “be more social, be a part of the community” treatment before. The clock had been ticking. Now, his luck had run out.

He sat in his armchair, watching Riley smile and charm the ladies, watching Patience wander through like a butterfly, grinning and gossiping and flirting as she flitted about. The game was starting, and the couch was crowded with his old classmates, all older (and several, like himself, a bit larger), all watching the game and yelling and hooting with encouragement, armchair quarterbacking, or booing and howling in despair.

Between the conversations, the TV, and the cheer squad, it was a wall of sound that made his head ache and his chest hunch in on itself.

It seemed like his cell phone was in his hand before he even consciously thought about it, and he started texting Maggie automatically.

Aiden: Kill me now.

BOGWITCH: What’s going on? Your foot?

Aiden: Deb’s here. In my house.

BOGWITCH: LOL

BOGWITCH: So kick her out.

Of course that would be Maggie’s first response. He grinned.

Aiden: She brought a bunch of people. My “friends” from h.s. Said she didn’t want me to be lonely.

BOGWITCH: Are you lonely?

He was about to type, then found himself pausing. He would’ve thought the answer was obvious: no. And he certainly wasn’t lonely enough to find this spontaneous football party fun, that was for damned sure. But . . .

Maybe?

Aiden: Not that lonely. screams silently in introvert BOGWITCH: Then kick ’em all out.

Aiden: Not that easy. She’s taking care of my Mom’s groceries. A lot of these people are part of Mom’s church. And I run into these people at the store and stuff. Small town living: can’t afford to be a dick.

BOGWITCH: Pfft. People. Who needs them?

Once again, Aiden was sure that Maggie had more reasons as to why she was so virulently antisocial . . . or at least, why she clung to the front. Because nobody who was supposedly such a curmudgeon would watch bad movies with a guild buddy or help out an injured friend. Or even have any buddies or friends. Still, she was prickly enough that he knew not to poke at the facade.

BOGWITCH: How long is this thing supposed to go on?

Aiden: Till the game’s over? I’ll tell them to go if they don’t get the hint. But it’s just loud. And I kinda stopped watching when I stopped playing—I mean, I want the Cougars to win, and all, but I don’t really care that much.

BOGWITCH: So you’re watching a program you’re not interested in, with people you don’t know anymore and whom you didn’t invite, and you can’t hide somewhere?

Well, when she put it that way . . .

Aiden: I guess?

BOGWITCH: Dude.

Aiden: I know! I know.

Aiden: But not all of us are rude AF, darlin’. Or at least, not all of us pull it off as beautifully as you do.

BOGWITCH: I may be rude, but I’m not putting up with a bunch of bullshit from well-intentioned people who are running roughshod over my life, am I?

He winced. Dammit. She had him there.

Aiden: Touche.

Aiden: Tell me your night’s going better.

BOGWITCH: Actually, no. My internet’s fucking up, and I can’t figure out what’s wrong. I can’t type and edit on my damned phone, and I don’t want to use it as a hotspot because my booster’s not working as well either. ARGH.

Aiden straightened in his chair.

Aiden: Maybe I can help? I was essentially the I.T. guy at our hospice. I know things.

BOGWITCH: I don’t know. Every time some customer service tries to talk me through computer stuff, I usually want to throat punch someone.

Aiden snickered.

Aiden: You, wanting to throat punch someone? SHOCK. I AM SHOCKED.

BOGWITCH: Quiet, you! Doofenschmirtz gif

Then an idea of such brilliance, such beautiful elegance, hit him like a lightning bolt. He could practically hear the choir of angels emphasizing it.

Aiden: Come get me, and I’ll fix it for you. In person, no charge.