“That’s a low blow,” I said. “Sincerity? That’s low.”
“It’s not an act, not a lure,” Nikki looked scandalized without letting her smile slip.
“I know. That’s why it’s low.”
She’s right. She’s absolutely right. Sure, we’ll go out dancing or have movie dates, and even some canoodling, but everything else is life or death. And I hate it. And, honestly, I’m sure she’s gotta be chomping at the bit. She’s used to long-term stuff, like court intrigue. And even though it’s not my thing, I didn’t mind the occasional week-long game of Risk or Monopoly with Paul. I really do hate the members here, too, so maybe it would be fun to tweak their noses.
“Pour me a Scotch and start talking before I change my mind.”
Her eyes lit up, sparkling like they do when we’re on our fourth dance of the night, exhilarated.
She passed the bottle to me, a Laphroaig old enough to go on Social Security, and I worked the stopper free carefully as she began talking.
“Well, do you know how much you enjoyed playing the rowdy dandy for Angelica? Well, I thought you could take on a similar role in the weeks to come so as to disguise. . . .”
I poured the scotch, neat, and swirled it around my glass as Nikki continued. She had a plan. No, not a plan, an entire campaign. This was more elaborate than summer-long multi-world Risk Campaign.
This could be kind of fun. At the very least, we can have fun with strategy sessions.