When I open the door, enter the place and take my beanie off of my head, my eyes immediately fall onto 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’m taller and manage to grab his hand before he does anything stupid. “I took a long time combing my hair,” I lie, limiting my smile for the night because I’m about to use it a lot. His lids are almost closed and his eyes are red, 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 grins 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 but, whatever. We probably won’t see each other again. 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 Claire and Patrick a few times, because they are Jesse’s best friends from childhood. But I guess Valery and Nolan, just like the invisible person, are 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 head to cut the contact. “No, I work at Tufts. I’m a professor.”

  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.

  Of course. It had to happen. Because my luck is 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 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 up 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 launches 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 dresses 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’m standing very still. I shouldn’t have come. “Can I get to my drink, please?” he asks, pointing at me, but really across for me, behind me, where his drink is.

  I don’t respond but move away and watch him take my place, grabbing his beer barely touched. He’s not even tipsy so I figure this is his first one. 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. Am I dreaming? Andrew’s eyes weigh on me like a physical ton and I start making a plan on how to get out of this conversation and in front of the bar.

  “He’s Slovak.”

  Everyone turns toward Andrew. Even me. Did he type my name on Google? 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. I don’t know. Jesse’s searching for my attention because he can see how difficult the situation has become to me. “I am.” I finally say. And then I add a barely audible excuse, and I 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 in his team. It was three people max, you’re with me 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 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, through my perspective of the situation.

  So, they are together. I mean, I guess. He doesn’t seem to give her a lot of attention despite her signals being absolutely deafening. My relationships with women have always been brief and casual. I really wasn’t ready for anything serious while I was working on climbing the ladders of positions that were given to me. Until the ladder was decimated and I was hanging on a single and very thin branch. 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 .

  His eyes are on me once I’m closer to them and 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. It’s like he doesn’t even see her underneath him. What a weird synergy.

  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…” Her puppy eyes are really cute. She’s a good-looking woman. Red head, freckles on her cheeks, light colored eyes that the dim light of the bar isn’t giving justice.

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

  He’s very amicable. But I don’t see the lust, the desire, nor the complicity in his eyes, compared to hers. She reddens from his touch and shies away from him. I down my drink again, and put the glass on the table. He watches the whole motion and a worried expression crosses his face for a second. 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. His co-worker stays behind the counter, but most people participate, and they all have ordered their drink before they would have to concentrate. Both our team take one side of the round table and Jesse leans toward me. “How do you feel?”

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

  “Good.”

  Valery turns our way and talks loudly while the rules are being explained. I know them. It’s usually the same. Be cordial. Raise your hand when you have the answer. Be fair play. “Did you do the teams on purpose?”

  Jesse lifts a brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Guys against girls,” Tania smirks at him and he scratches his neck.

  “Not on purpose. Claire did yours.”

  “It’s on then, show them girls.” Tania added and winked to her boy. Jesse looks deeply infatuated. 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, timid. “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 eyes are interrogative and he lifts his brows. I put my hands on his shoulders and turn him around, toward the bartender reading the questions.

  Andrew is in my peripheral vision but I try not to pry too much. For some reason, I sense his gaze with an intensity I never experienced before. Usually, people stare because I’m not looking like the common American male. I have a particular physique but I wouldn’t consider myself handsome, although Jesse frequently explained my appearance answers most beauty criteria of the female gender. And sometimes the male, too.

  One night, he decided to tell each time another human being would stare a little too much and a little too suspiciously. During that night, he said twenty women and around seven men looked our way, and reminded me some people are more reserved than others. And that, even in a time like ours, homosexual men showed difficulties being very open outside. Among these supposedly twenty-seven people, five built up the courage to come to our table and ask for my number. I refused.

  Jesse was shocked and infuriated. I remember him shouting in the streets as we walked back to our respective cars that I wasn’t seeing my potential and was throwing it away. That I would regret all the avoidance and the procrastination. I think I pushed him and because of the number of drinks he had, he fell head first in a bush. We laughed for ten minutes straight.

  “Is everyone ready?” the bartender 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. The bartender specifies. “I assure you, there will be questions for everyone.”

  “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 his head approvingly.

  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? Doubt engulfs me. 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. Why am I feeling weird in the stomach?

  “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 up 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 and I’m back in the present. It’s like the ambient sounds disappeared for that time and they only entered my world right now. 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. Even at my parent’s house, I would usually go with a beer and stick to water for the rest of the meal. This is way more. 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 shouting the questions, 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. As I turn my head, I glimpse at Andrew whose eyes are watching the connection between Patrick and me. He’s still turned towards Claire, and holds her nape. His thumb strokes her skin and she’s reddening even more.

  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.

  To be honest, the weirdness still spreads in my body, but only the surprise developed in my expression. It’s warm. Welcoming.

  “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. I recognize the group. The Driver Era. Not my usual taste but this one song is rather nice. . I bop my head while waiting for the question.

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

  “Hitch!” Someone yells but the master of the game refuses the answer. 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 and rare smiles and before I can understand what he’s doing, one of his hands grabs my shirt and his lips smash onto mine.

  The whole table laughs. Fortunately, I took his jaws and pushed him away before he could insert his tongue. Which he totally could have done. “You’re so wasted,” I chuckle with him and he slides his hand onto my torso.

  “Fuck, I could do more than that to you right now.”

  “Shut up, idiot,” I answer and push him even further away. His habit of humiliating me in public will surely put me in a difficult posture one day.

  The question valued three points, drawing us to first place. I grin watching the board. Eyes fall on me and 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.” Liar.

  “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 one word to my intention.

  Andrew’s voice rises up 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 rises up, “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 eyes 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 on one genre to alleviate another sounds really immature.”

  “You are the one that 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, or a non-alcoholic one at least) and shakes his head, like he’s amused but also a bit exasperated. I got on his nerves, it seems. My gaze stays near him although 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 next approach meticulously. Jesse’s a passionate guy and never abandons his goal. Tania plants a kiss on his cheek and tries to gather his attention.

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