I floundered for a second, totally taken aback as I glanced toward the two guys sitting at the table. Charlie mentioned me to his friends?
“Hey,” I said, smiling and pretending like I’d previously known of their existence. “Nice to meet you guys.”
“What do you think of this shirt?” Evan asked, pointing at his pink button-down.
“Christ, man, can you shut up about the shirt?” Adam muttered, grinning and shaking his head.
“I would but you won’t,” Evan said loudly.
Eli laughed and said, “It’s fucking beautiful, dude—just shut up about it already.”
“I like it,” I said, unsure if Evan actually wanted my opinion.
“Beer?” Adam asked.
“No, thanks,” Charlie said. “Bay?”
“No, thanks,” I agreed, looking at him and wondering if he usually drank and was just saying no because of me. Regardless, I was glad he wasn’t drinking that night. I wasn’t anti-booze, but I was a little too much of a control freak to handle the idea of losing my inhibitions in front of other people.
“I gotta be honest,” Eli said, “I pictured you a little more, uh—”
“Ugly?” Evan looked at Eli and nodded his head in agreement. “Same.”
“What?” I looked at Charlie. “You told them I’m ugly?”
“No.” He laughed.
“No,” Eli said. “He just talks about you like you’re some guy he works with. He failed to mention that you’re—”
“Not that ugly?” I said, looking at Charlie, unable to hold in a laugh.
“Exactly,” Eli said, looking relieved that I hadn’t taken his words the wrong way.
“Charlie,” someone yelled from the living room. “We need you.”
He looked at me and said, “Care to be the official phone-a-friend with me?”
“Huh?”
“Charlie is a trivia god, so everyone wants him on their team,” Eli said, picking up the can of Ultra in front of him. “So much so that he’s become a free agent, where players can pay to phone-a-Charlie.”
I looked at him in shock. “Is this true? Are you smart?”
“I’m a genius,” he said, so typically Charlie.
“He actually is,” Eli said.
“Shut up.” I mean, Charlie was obviously an intelligent person, but he’d never struck me as someone who would care enough to do well in school. People with attitudes like his usually ditched class and slept during lectures.
Was he seriously a genius?
“Charlie!” The group at the dining room table all yelled like their favorite person in the world had just walked in, but he gave them a half smile and lifted a hand in the air as if this was normal.
Actually, it seemed like everyone was happy to see him, and not just because of his apparent trivia prowess. Just about each person we passed as we went into the living room smiled and shouted a “Charlie!” in his direction. As if Charlie were their old buddy back from some sort of long trip.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I liked Charlie—wow, I actually did like Charlie—but it was somehow surprising that so many other people did. I would’ve imagined him being too much of an acquired taste for the general population. Kind of an IYKYK type of guy.
“Sampson!” A guy in a black-and-white T-shirt and red jeans—and a full beard—screamed. “When Tad said you were coming, I couldn’t believe it. I haven’t seen you out in forever.”
“I work every weekend,” Charlie said, then looked at me. “This is Bailey, by the way.”
“Hey, Bailey,” he said, grinning like I was fantastic just for being with Charlie. “I’m Austin.”
“I love your pants, Austin,” I said, wishing I’d taken Eli’s proffered beer just so I had something in my hand to make me look like I fit in. “Bold choice.”
“Right?” he agreed, looking down at his red jeans. “The way I see it, these babies send a message that I know exactly who I am.”
“You are Red Jeans Man,” I said around a laugh, instantly taking to Austin. He looked like the kind of guy who was always smiling. And there was some sort of positive energy surrounding him, which was a definite contrast to Charlie’s aura. These two are friends? I guess opposites do attract.
“Also known as Questionable Choices Man,” Charlie added. “Or perhaps Fashion Don’t Dude.”
That made Austin cackle and launch into a story about someone they knew.
But as I engaged with his friends, I wondered why Charlie hadn’t been out in a long time. He worked weekends, yes, but I knew that he was off every single Friday night.
So, what was he doing with his free time? Was he home alone, pining over his ex? Did he have some sort of family obligation that kept him away from his friends? Why had he been MIA?
He was obviously a social person, if the party’s reaction to his appearance was any indication, so what was the deal?
And why am I so curious?
“Oh my God, it’s Charles!” a tiny redhead squealed, then ran over and grabbed Charlie in a big bear hug. She looked overjoyed to see him. “You’ve come back to us!”
She looked at me and said, “Hi. I’m Clio.”
“Bailey,” I said, grinning wildly, because it was impossible not to. Clio had a warm smile, the kind that reached the corners of her eyes and made them crinkle. She just projected kindness. I could feel my shoulders relax.
“Bless you, Bailey, for getting this asshole to quit being a hermit.”
Seriously, what is the story with Charlie’s apparent hermitatude?
Charlie put his hand over Clio’s face and teasingly pushed. “Just because I have a life doesn’t mean I’m a hermit.”
“Whatever.” She reached around him and grabbed a can of Old Milwaukee off the coffee table. “Sit down and get ready to feed us the answers.”
We sat down on the couch, and Charlie leaned closer to me and said, “Just pinch my leg or something if you’re bored, and we’ll go.”
“Like this?” I asked, pinching his leg hard.
He gave his head a slow shake and said, “You are so lucky I’m a nice guy. If Eli did that, I’d drop him.”
“Wow—so macho,” I said under my breath, pulling my phone out to make sure neither of my parents had texted.
I heard Charlie laugh as Clio started telling me the rules of the game. It was like Trivial Pursuit, but made for our generation. All the questions were about things everyone was familiar with, but they hinged upon the tiniest of details.
What color robe was Jess wearing when she and Nick had their first kiss on New Girl?
Every time a team lost a point, they had to stand on the dining room table and perform a song selected by the other players. I teamed up with Clio, and everyone in the house seemed to gravitate over to the living room to get in the game.
Charlie was, apparently, a mercenary. If a team didn’t know the answer, they had the right to pay him a dollar for his help. And shockingly, he was right every single time he was called to serve. So when Clio and I were unsure about the answer to List the exact wrappings around Michael Scott’s foot after he grilled it in his Foreman, Charlie bumped his leg against mine.