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  When I open the door, enter the place, and take my beanie off my head, I immediately see my friend. He’s very hard not to notice, to be honest, because he’s waving his hand vigorously, his arm all up in the air, like he’s not six feet two already. Around him, probably Tania, her hand snaking along his bicep, her face buried under the crook of his neck, and he says something to her in her ear that makes her giggle.

  I take the time to hang my coat by the door and slalom between everyone to reach for the round table, where already five other people are either standing or sitting. “Alex, come here.”

  Jesse is very drunk, and he tries to dishevel my hair, but I manage to grab his hand before he does anything stupid. “It took me a long time to clean up,” I lie, limiting my smile for the night because I’m about to use it a lot. His lids are almost closed, but for some reason, he can still stand up and talk. His resilience is remarkable.

  “So, this is Tania,” he starts presenting, pointing at the people around, and I quietly nod, “Nolan, Patrick, Claire, Valery and… Where’s your friend, Claire?”

  “Hum, toilet probably?”

  “Well, this is Alex!”

  I salute them with handshakes and amicable nods, a glint of a grin when I feel too harsh. My face, in its resting state, isn’t exactly the epitome of welcoming. Maybe they can see how fake all of this is…

  We probably won’t see each other again, anyway. Jesse knows I can’t handle multiple nights like this, with as many people as there are now. Valery grabs my wrist to catch my attention now that everyone entered their own conversation. “So, do you work with Jesse?”

  The latter didn’t really introduce me, I see. I’ve heard of Nolan and Patrick a few times, because they are Jesse’s best friends from childhood. But I guess Valery and Claire, just like the invisible person, are friends with Tania, or friends of friends, and they just invited everyone they could for this first organized night to be a sure success. I pretend to scratch my neck to cut the contact. “No, I work at Tufts University.”

  She makes an O with her mouth, and I frown before she speaks. “No way!”

  I look right and left, but no one else has heard. She laughs and grabs Claire’s arm, although she’s talking to Patrick and Jesse. “Alex is a professor at Tufts, too!”

  Claire lets out an exhaled scream and crosses my stare before she covers her hand with her mouth. “What a coincidence! You must surely know Andrew, then.”

  “We’ve met.”

  The voice is coming from behind me. Honey-coated. Clean, smooth. Too perfect.

  My luck has been close to non-existent these past few weeks. I’m not even pretending I’m not upset. Exasperated. They all look at me, and by the glance Jesse’s giving me, he’s put two and two together.

  His eyebrows shoot up, and he smiles. That bastard smiles because obviously this is hilarious. I’m hilarious, Andrew’s hilarious, this whole situation is a fucking one-man show, and I’m the victim. “Hi, Alexej.”

  I can hear the smile before I turn around. He’s making a point by calling me by my full name, and I wonder if it’s just to piss me off or to make everyone ask questions. And as if he predicted the next two hundred years, they do ask questions. “Alexej? It’s your real name?” Claire’s annoying voice rises from behind, but my eyes are stuck on him.

  The scent again. I don’t bother inspecting it anymore, I just notice how it tears my stomach and lurches my heart up. It forces me to take a deep breath, a long inhale, as if my body has been deprived of oxygen for years.

  My gaze quickly scans him up and down, and he’s refined. A white t-shirt, close to his chest, an ochre colored pants with a brown belt squeezing his waist just a bit. A large watch drapes his right wrist, and I mentally remark that the proper way to wear it is on the left for right-handed people. Which I know he is, since the class I attended. His shoes are definitely raising him because he’s closer to my height than when we talked in his classroom.

  I answer Claire before my silence is too suspicious. “Yes.”

  Andrew is smiling. I shouldn’t have come. “Can I get to my drink, please?” he asks, pointing at me, but really behind me, where his drink is.

  I don’t respond but move away and watch him take my place, grabbing his beer barely touched. Valery insists on keeping the conversation going. “That’s such a beautiful name! Why don’t you introduce yourself with it?”

  Jesse speaks on my behalf, obviously noticing I’m overwhelmed. “People tend to pronounce it wrong, so…”

  “But that’s too bad! You shouldn’t diminish your origins because people are stupid. Where are you from? Alexej… it sounds Russian.”

  “No, Polish!” Nolan enters the auction, and I’m watching the whole scene like I’m living an out-of-body experience.

  “He’s Slovak.”

  Everyone turns toward Andrew. Even me. Was that part of all the things Caroline admitted to him, and if so, do I need to shut her up permanently? I do remember he has read my paper, so he surely searched for my name on the web.

  After a few seconds of silence, they turn to me, waiting for my confirmation, I suppose. Jesse’s searching for my attention because he can see how difficult the situation has become for me.

  “I am.” I finally say. And then I add a barely audible excuse, hail the bartender from afar, almost yelling for a whiskey. When I can rest my elbows and shut my eyes until I see patterns, a hand falls over my shoulder, and I don’t wince because I know who it is. “You okay?” Jesse asks, with half-closed lids.

  I down my glass, order another one, and down it too before I answer. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve known.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, Andrew! But don’t worry, you won’t be on his team. It was four people max, you’re with me, Nolan, and Patrick.”

  I nod and ask for another drink. When it’s in my hand, both Jesse and I come back to the table. Claire has proclaimed her position next to Andrew. Well, I really should say on Andrew, because she’s slightly between him and the table. One of his hands is holding his glass, and the other one is most certainly in his pocket, because the other solution would be in Claire’s pants, from my perspective of the situation.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  So, they are together. I mean, I guess. A synergologist like him must have seen that Claire is deeply interested, and the fact that he doesn’t act on it is my direct assumption that they are already together. Jesse did introduce him as her friend, though.

  I find myself a place next to Jesse and Patrick, my teammates for the quiz. Andrew is in front of me, and his gaze is much higher than Claire’s head. It’s like he doesn’t even see her underneath him.

  She looks up and grabs his attention with a hand on his chest, “I wasn’t sure you were coming, so I didn’t give your name for the game…” She’s a good-looking woman. Redhead, freckles on her cheeks, light colored eyes that the dim light of the bar isn’t giving justice.

  He takes a step back, putting his hand on her shoulder, “It’s alright. I’ll be your Joker.”

  I down my drink again, and put the glass on the table. He watches the whole motion. I don’t really pay attention. The alcohol is warming me up, and I can sense my usual reluctant and timid self fall back inside to let the more open and sociable Alexej come out.

  The bartender takes a mic and lets everyone know that the game is about to start. Both our teams take one side of the round table, and Jesse leans toward me. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m going to beat everyone’s ass?”

  “Good.”

  I risk a glance toward Claire, and she’s watching Andrew. But the latter is fixated on me. Again.

  I’m feeling risky. He’s right in front of me, and I bent over the table for him to hear me better. “Do I have something on my face?”

  He’s startled, blinks furiously, like he’s been in his thoughts, and he just got called out. His mouth opens, and he smiles timidly. “Hum. No.”

  “Then look elsewhere. I’m not giving you the answers.” The tip of his ears seems to redden, but I quickly look away because the game is starting. Jesse’s interrogative. I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him around, toward the bartender who reads the questions.

  “Is everyone ready?” the latter yells.

  And the whole bar shouts with impatience. The first question drops. “What is the distance between the Earth and the Sun in km?”

  Teams watch each other, talk silently so nobody would hear their thinking. I’m grinning because most of the people threw their hands in the air, bewildered by the difficulty.

  “One hundred and fifty million kilometers,” I answer, barely raising my hand.

  The bartender confirms, and my team jumps and shouts. “Fucking genius,” Jesse vigorously shakes my shoulders, and I take his beer for a sip. When I put the glass down, Andrew is clapping with the rest of the bar. He nods approvingly.

  The second question falls. “What was the exact date of John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s assassination?”

  Patrick lowers his voice, “I’m certain it’s November.”

  Jesse continues, “The year is 1963, obviously… Alexej?”

  I’m not completely sure. I know it’s twice the same number, so it's either eleven or twenty-two, but which one?

  While I pick on my lips with my fingers, I see Andrew whisper something into Claire’s ear. He’s smiling, she’s blushing a lot, and I figure this has nothing to do with the game. I deviate my eyes, uncomfortable.

  “Well?” Jesse asks, but by the time I’m back in the game, a woman shouts the answer.

  “Yes! November 22nd of the year 1963, that’s correct, you get one point.”

  Claire giggles, and my attention is immediately back on them. Andrew smiles and bites his lower lip. A few minutes ago, he was barely looking at her. Barely acknowledging her damn existence. Or was I too concentrated on watching him? Scanning his face, his expressions. The way only one corner of his mouth would lift when he’s a bit embarrassed. How easily I made him blush. How easily I reacted to him blushing. How easily I react to anything he does. “Alex?”

  Jesse’s voice erupts in my ear. Claire and Andrew look at me expectantly. Did they ask me something?

  I sense the dizziness of the three shots of whiskey crippling inside my veins and fogging my mind. It’s been a while since I had this many drinks. And I took them within seconds. “You don’t look too good,” Claire adds, and her voice suddenly becomes unbearable to hear. Is it because of the alcohol pumping in my system?

  “I’m alright,” I finally say, before everyone starts panicking or Jesse launches on his phone to call an ambulance. From the points panel above the bartender, we’ve missed two of them. I shake my head and avoid crossing Andrew’s stare that I can nonetheless feel over me.

  “Do you need water?” Patrick talks on my right and rests his hand on my shoulder. Why does everyone act so damn amicably tonight? Am I just too sensitive from the drinks? His fingers seem to massage my muscle, and soon the contact is burning.

  I tap Patrick’s hand out of my body. “Everything’s fine, guys.” My smile stretches awkwardly, as I feel that I need to add visual confirmation of my well-being.

  “Good!” The bartender speaks loudly, and all my senses are back on the game. “Next question. Listen carefully, folks.”

  Everyone repositions and concentrates. The conversations quiet down until nobody’s speaking. Only the light music plays in the background.

  “In which movie can we find a relatively professional seducer teaching his—”

  “Hitch!” Someone yells, but the answer’s refused. It’s about a romantic comedy, I figure, but I’ve only seen one. From a few nights ago. As the question resumes, I realize the plot is quite similar. The words twirl against each other. Misunderstanding. Fight. Divorce. Teacher.

  I raise my hand. “Crazy, stupid love.”

  The sounds stop as all the participants hold their breath. The bartender points at me and shouts. “Correct answer!”

  Jesse yells and turns around. His attitude snatches one of my sincere smiles, and before I can understand what he’s doing, his lips smash onto mine.

  The whole table laughs. Fortunately, I took his jaws and pushed him away before he could insert his tongue. “You’re so wasted,” I chuckle with him, and he slides his hand onto my torso. His habit of humiliating me in public will surely put me in a difficult position one day.

  The question rewards us with three points, drawing us to first place. I grin watching the board. Eyes fall on our group. One woman winks at me.

  “I’ll buy you another drink,” Jesse says while he reaches for the bar. Patrick draws my attention as he leans on the table.

  “Didn’t pin you as the kind to watch romantic comedies, Alex.”

  I snort. “I’m really not. Just fell asleep in front of it the other night.”

  “That’s more like you,” he continues, as if we had spent many nights together. Which is false. I don’t really know why he’s suddenly very interested in me. The other rare times we saw each other, he barely addressed a word to me.

  Andrew’s voice rises from the other side of the table. “What’s wrong with romantic comedies?” He talked with much seriousness. He’s standing closer to us, and Claire’s chatting with the girls. His hand grips his glass of beer.

  “Nothing,” one corner of my lips lifts, “if you like watching the same plot over and over again with poorly written characters.”

  Patrick huffs, but Andrew remains impassibly calm. Only his head bends to the side, his gaze licking my face up and down. I sense my cheeks getting red, and I hate that I can’t control my body more. “So, you’re more of a Lars Von Trier fan? You like being tortured through three hours of intellectual jerk-off?”

  Tania, Claire, and Valery have stopped talking and are actively listening to our discussion. “There’s a gulf between Lars Von Trier movies and intense, mind-blowing thrillers, like Nolan’s.”

  “Just like there’s a gulf between Richard Curtis’ comedies and the ones brought up by Netflix.”

  “I sense I’ve touched some sensitive string here, professor.”

  He chuckles, but he’s truly annoyed. “Having to strike one genre to alleviate another sounds really immature.”

  “You are the one who assumes I’m some kind of cinema elitist.”

  “You surely are one in the science department.”

  We both ogle each other, and Jesse chooses this moment to come back with the drinks. “Three beers for the winners!” he shouts, and I would want to remind him the game is only paused, not finished, but Andrew and I are so locked onto the other that I keep my mouth shut. “Does anyone else want one? Andrew?”

  Finally, he breaks his gaze. And I blink. “No, thanks. I don’t drink.” He clarifies.

  Jesse realizes the tension and shoots me a glance. I smile to diffuse the strained ambiance and stretch my arm along my friend’s shoulders. “Andrew is just pissed I got the answer before he did.”

  The latter still traces a smile on his face. He takes a sip of his beverage (which isn’t beer, apparently), amused and exasperated. I got on his nerves, it seems.

  Patrick and Jesse start organizing our next strategy. The game has no real trophy for the winners except some free drinks, yet both my partners plan our approach meticulously.

  The game resumes. And I’m only drawn by the movements Andrew makes.