So Two Years Ago
Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen:
I finally got past that Starbucks, although I considered once or twice getting out of my car for a latte while I was stuck there. Over the time it took to listen to two entire CDs-- more like 1 ¾, but who’s counting?-- I was finally out of the city and on my way to Wilmette. I sped the entire way, worried that the boys were starving as they waited for me. Thankfully, I didn’t cross the paths of any radar gun-wielding policemen.
Thirty or forty minutes later than I’d expected, I parked in front of Pete’s house, swiftly climbing out of the car and checking my hair in the window as I locked the door. My high-heeled shoes clicked with each step up the sidewalk, and I rang the doorbell.
“Finally. I’m starved,” he said with a chuckle, to which I rolled my eyes. He gestured for me to come in, and so I did as he eyed me with furrowed brows. I could faintly hear the sounds of guitars, and I cocked my head at the noise, but had my thoughts interrupted when Pete spoke. “Someone got a little overdressed for dinner, wouldn’t you say?”
I was still wearing my work clothes, of course. “I just came from work. I could’ve gone home to change, but I decided against it. Since you’re so starved.”
“I appreciate your consideration of my empty stomach.”
“No problem.”
He led me downstairs, the same way he had the day before, and the guitar noises got louder. Again, I was made curious by the sounds. As we reached the bottom of the staircase, though, I realized what was going on. Andy sat on the couch, watching attentively as Patrick and Joe battled it out on Guitar Hero.
His attention left the other two when he noticed Pete and me enter the room. “Hey, you’re here.” He stood to greet me.
“Yep. I finally made it out of the never ending hell that is rush hour traffic,” I groaned with a playful grin.
“Well, I’m glad for that.”
My attention was stolen, momentarily, by Joe, who jumping up and down and doing a funny looking victory dance. Apparently, he’d won the game. “The epic Guitar Hero battle wages on?”
“It never stops,” he chuckled. “We thought it was over with two rounds, only Patrick won round one, and Joe won round two, so they decided that best two out of three would win. And then, when Patrick won round three, Joe insisted that they play best three out of five--”
“And what round just ended?”
“Seven.”
My eyes widened in disbelief as I turned back toward Joe, who was still gloating, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.
Patrick was glaring at his opponent when he announced, “Joe, you fucking cheated! Best seven out of nine!”
“Oh my god. No fucking way!” Pete stepped between the players and the TV. “I am dying of hunger, for crying out loud, and Tessa’s finally here, so let’s go get some food already!”
Patrick pondered for a moment, his still fixed unhappily on Joe, who was grinning like an idiot, and, after a moment of thought, he grumbled, “Fine. But this isn’t over, Trohman.”
“Whatever, man. I don’t care how many rounds we have to play to prove that I can totally kick your ass,” Joe smirked, satisfied with the grimace he was now receiving from his friend.
“Ok…,” I began, as the five of us started up the stairs. “Note to self: never play video games with Joe or Patrick.”
I finally got past that Starbucks, although I considered once or twice getting out of my car for a latte while I was stuck there. Over the time it took to listen to two entire CDs-- more like 1 ¾, but who’s counting?-- I was finally out of the city and on my way to Wilmette. I sped the entire way, worried that the boys were starving as they waited for me. Thankfully, I didn’t cross the paths of any radar gun-wielding policemen.
Thirty or forty minutes later than I’d expected, I parked in front of Pete’s house, swiftly climbing out of the car and checking my hair in the window as I locked the door. My high-heeled shoes clicked with each step up the sidewalk, and I rang the doorbell.
“Finally. I’m starved,” he said with a chuckle, to which I rolled my eyes. He gestured for me to come in, and so I did as he eyed me with furrowed brows. I could faintly hear the sounds of guitars, and I cocked my head at the noise, but had my thoughts interrupted when Pete spoke. “Someone got a little overdressed for dinner, wouldn’t you say?”
I was still wearing my work clothes, of course. “I just came from work. I could’ve gone home to change, but I decided against it. Since you’re so starved.”
“I appreciate your consideration of my empty stomach.”
“No problem.”
He led me downstairs, the same way he had the day before, and the guitar noises got louder. Again, I was made curious by the sounds. As we reached the bottom of the staircase, though, I realized what was going on. Andy sat on the couch, watching attentively as Patrick and Joe battled it out on Guitar Hero.
His attention left the other two when he noticed Pete and me enter the room. “Hey, you’re here.” He stood to greet me.
“Yep. I finally made it out of the never ending hell that is rush hour traffic,” I groaned with a playful grin.
“Well, I’m glad for that.”
My attention was stolen, momentarily, by Joe, who jumping up and down and doing a funny looking victory dance. Apparently, he’d won the game. “The epic Guitar Hero battle wages on?”
“It never stops,” he chuckled. “We thought it was over with two rounds, only Patrick won round one, and Joe won round two, so they decided that best two out of three would win. And then, when Patrick won round three, Joe insisted that they play best three out of five--”
“And what round just ended?”
“Seven.”
My eyes widened in disbelief as I turned back toward Joe, who was still gloating, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation.
Patrick was glaring at his opponent when he announced, “Joe, you fucking cheated! Best seven out of nine!”
“Oh my god. No fucking way!” Pete stepped between the players and the TV. “I am dying of hunger, for crying out loud, and Tessa’s finally here, so let’s go get some food already!”
Patrick pondered for a moment, his still fixed unhappily on Joe, who was grinning like an idiot, and, after a moment of thought, he grumbled, “Fine. But this isn’t over, Trohman.”
“Whatever, man. I don’t care how many rounds we have to play to prove that I can totally kick your ass,” Joe smirked, satisfied with the grimace he was now receiving from his friend.
“Ok…,” I began, as the five of us started up the stairs. “Note to self: never play video games with Joe or Patrick.”