Games We Play

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat,” I explained to the very pretty yet fretting woman standing in line behind me.  She rocked on her slim legs in her trendy sandals, she let out a deep sigh, her long slim fingers raking through beautiful curls. “You can ruin this whole experience if you don’t set yourself up for the win.” I add. 

“Oh.  Uh...I—I know.  But, right now I’m second guessing why I signed up for this in the first place,” She said quietly with a giggle, leaning forward so only I could hear her.  I turn my head and muster up a half smile.  “Whatever the draw was for you to come—just remember your reasons why you wanted to be here in the first place,” I told her as I righted myself and moved up in the slow-moving line to sign in.   

She nodded, placing her hand around her forehead pressing hard into her temples.  “How are you so calm?” she asks.  “I mean, look around.  This is some fierce competition,” she raised her perfect eyebrow at me. 

I tuck my small gray leather wristlet under my armpit and pull my long wavy blonde hair back only to let it settle in the exact same place around my neck. I smooth out my favorite teal midthigh dress and say, “If you look around too much, you’ll lose your own focus,” I told her feeling stupid for fluffing up another competitor.  This isn’t part of the deal, I thought.  I am not there to do my day job, I guess it’s more difficult for me to turn off my psychologist switch. I naturally want to build up people, make them feel comfortable and of course, over analyze.      

“You’re so right,” she says back to me.  I could sense the distraction in her voice as she busily stole glances around the lobby trying to read everyone’s life story and taking advantage of the physical first impressions.  She had deep brown eyes that sparked amber when she smiled.  The others that were checked-in already were filling out their forms.  I glance in the bar; bartenders and the wait staff were darting back and forth bringing out appetizers and setting tables.  

“My name is Caroline, by the way,” she taps my shoulder making me jump.  “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” she gasps then giggles.  

I face her, “that’s okay.  I am in my head a lot.  Bad habit and I’m Abbie.” Enough with the chit-chat, I think to myself.  I have a game to win.  I greeted the man in registration, “hello, I am Abbie West and I would like to check-in please.”  I love flirting, it may be why I win a lot.  I also like to feel a little naughty.  Being is a suit, over seeing my patients, listening and learning from everyone I see, even taking a shift or two at St. Mary’s Hospital Psych Ward has its entertaining moments, don’t get me wrong.  But I play a very professional role all work week.  It’s difficult to be taken seriously when you are a newly graduated Doctor, who is blonde, petite at 5 feet 9 inches, that rides horses as a hobby, and who is sexy as Hell. I ignore the little sneers as men and women look at my firm ass and long tan legs and I call the bigger jerks who go out of their horny way to admire one of my body parts and put them in check no matter who is around overhearing. Weekends are so much fun.  

“Here’s your packet, you have about 10 minutes to write down your questions.  When you’re done give them back to me and I will make sure to toss them into the tables you’ll be sitting at tonight. Your tables are even numbers, so remember 2-4-6 and 8.  Okay?” he beamed at me.  

“Okay,” I nod.  “...but what table are you going to be at?”  I tease him.

His charm oozing off of him he answered, “any table you’re at.  Come say goodbye to me if you don’t win tonight,” he ever so slightly licked his lips.  

“I’ll come say goodnight even when I do win,” I tell him with uncertainty. 

I take a step back toward Caroline as she moved into the check-in, “good luck,” I tell her with a wink.

“Thanks Abbie, you too.  I will see you in the winners’ circle huh?”

I smiled at her and I reached for my phone, the screen light up 6:48 PM. 

I head over to a love seat in the corner to concentrate on my paperwork.  Think-think-think, I rush myself, wanting to be done so I could at least mingle a bit before kick-off.  I smile and eye the room, two handsome men stop talking to each other, flash me incredibly sexy smiles and stand still as though time stopped.  I blush and smile back shyly. I finish up my questions, take them back to the check-in desk, and head to the women’s restroom to add some lip gloss and double check my game face.  

I slowly walk into the roomy bar, beautifully decorated in a Mitterrandian style with golds, blues, and burgundy colors.  I stand near the stage and swoop a champagne glass off a server’s tray, taking a sip and letting my eyes wonder up and down on my teammates and competitors, all middle to late 20’s.  I see Caroline in the corner of my eye, and think she really is going to be tough to beat, she is stunning.  I secretly wish that she has trouble tonight with the questions and answer part of the game. I know I have the mental toughness to play this game very well.  I know I can rely on my new Ph.D. psychologist skills to get to know the players, it gives me an advantage in this situation.  I can read the slightest body language, a head tilt, a covered laugh.  I also can get inside their heads without them even noticing, which comes in handy. The signs, habits, signals are all right there for me to play with.  

Our referee takes the stage, wearing a black tux with a baby pink rose boutonniere, he takes the microphone and starts welcoming everyone to the nights’ events.  He explains the rules and how the game is to be played, asking for the men to take their seats.   I remember my even numbered play book, 2-4-6-and 8, and I spy on the men moving to those table numbers.  My mind works fast now, it’s finally time to play. Table number 2 looks promising as I inch my way over to him, my eyes dart and squint to his class ring, he graduated from Yale, he’s looking fine in navy Gucci pants and a light gray thin Burberry sweater, and I just caught his BMW logo key fob before he shoved it in his front pocket.  Our eyes meet, I look approvingly and reach out my hand, he stands up and gently shakes with me.  His eyes don’t leave me and rest on my name tag, “hello, Abbie.” 

 “Hello Luke, nice to meet you.”

The ref’s voice interrupts our first impression as we basically drool over each other, “Alright.  Take your seats! This is round one of our speed dating game! No harm with a lot of fouls! Good luck contestants!”