We have an agreement [https://i.imgur.com/yEQYowO.jpg]

Part 1 - Agreement

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"So, you wanna make it a bet then?"

Everyone else near the table went silent. I swallowed. 

"...Sure. Yeah. Absolutely." I casually dried my slick, clammy hands along my arms.

Greg thrust out his open palm. "Let's do it then. Make it official."

Official. An official bet.

My bladder was freaking out.

I should've just backed away and put on my best face with a cover of excuses for why I couldn't do it. A thing with family. A sudden bout of illness. Something!

But, as I thought the whole thing to hell, my body reached out my hand and my voice said, "I bet Greg Owlswatter that I will not have to pee the rest of the night or else face all the consequences that can result."

Greg's hand clutched in mine, he answered, "I bet John Bellmore that I will not indulge my sexual desires about any redhead for the rest of the night or else face all the consequences that can result as well."

No fireworks to accompany the bet. There never were. But our eyes shimmered with a vibrant shade of purple. The bet had been made, ordained, and sealed.

And I was screwed.

-----

Till over a century ago, making a bet was simply an agreement between groups or persons. Whatever consequences that came ranged from lost face or money to a good laugh. That changed in March 1913.

The first documented, sealed bet was between an investment banker and his wife. He bet he wouldn't go drinking one evening or his wife could ride him like a horse. He came home with a long face about that. 

Even after several chaotic weeks, no one had any idea why it was happening, but some semblance of the rules emerged.

First, the parties had to willingly and clearly agree to the bet. No altered states or manipulation. It had to occur in good faith. Whatever force which administered the bets was firm on this. Usually, this involved a handshake, but amputees and paraplegics were still able to bet.

Second, you couldn't game the system. No betting you'll win the lottery if you can't achieve wingless flight. You had to want to win and it had to be a challenge that could potentially be won or lost.

Third, you couldn't bet disproportionately. No betting a daisy while someone else bet their house. The risk and reward had to match. While many bets didn't get the subtle yet noticeable purple eyes of approval because they were impossible, some bets could still make the seemingly impossible happen.

Last, the bet had to be finite. That man was only his wife's steed for a week before he returned to himself with a resolute determination to never drink again. I should've followed similar advice.

I usually did. Underage betting was discouraged for moral reasons. It still happened though. I'd watched a few secret bets behind the school bleachers, but I never participated. 

College was different. My first bet was a handstand or else take out the trash. I bet mostly on music, chores, dares for games, and occasionally with my girlfriend at the time, Lucy. My biggest win was making a friend-of-a-friend have to talk in an unnatural falsetto for a day after I crushed him in a game. My biggest loss was when I had to tell Lucy about my secret turn-on. Boy, did she ever find ways to exploit it.

It became the bane and boon of those years. When a sly, smirking idea hit her, she was dangerous to be near. I would say more, except for the predicament I found myself in with Greg.

Greg knew Lucy from a business class, and he'd visit the dorm because of assignments. Swiftly, we became friends. We had drinking bets with the mini-bottles stashed in the dressers. Most were small, "buy the other lunch" at most. Lucy's suggestions always had me squirming. Greg never took the bait though and Lucy stopped bothering. 

Junior year, Greg and I were friends full-time and Lucy had moved on. One of my roommates, Cole, made suspiciously-common bets that left him as a chubby, stacked, flirtatious girl named Colleen. Bananas began vanishing from the kitchen and the door was always locked when a guy named Reese was in. I usually went for fog walks around those times with my headphones on.

After Reese, there was a strange little time when I never left Colleen's bed for a whole weekend. That led to about a week with us as an active couple. Knowing Cole, then 'really' knowing Colleen should've made dorm life weird but it was kinda like two different people who just happened to share a body.

Eventually, Colleen moved on too. Greg remained but not forever.

Shortly into senior year, his uncle had a heart attack. He needed to retire and wanted Greg to take over the business he owned. Every day hanging out became the occasional weekend.

I thought that would be it. We'd drift apart, like with everyone else I knew. But, after wading through a financial stopgap of restaurant and filing jobs since graduation, Greg called me and asked if I'd be interested in an open position at his business.

John Bellmore is so screwed [https://i.imgur.com/GCwP5Ea.jpg]

So, I joined OWL Medical as a medical assistant, bookkeeper, and file clerk. Not to mention whatever else was needed. We had a part-time phlebotomist, nurse practitioner, and an x-ray tech contracted through an agency. Greg's office in the back had fragrant, faux wood paneling left behind by his uncle. And ever near that office was Barbara Finnacker. 

And that brings me to why I was sitting nearly drunk in a pub across from Greg with a quivering bladder, throbbing head, and a pile of second thoughts to go with betting, purple eyes.

Barbara, or Babs to pretty much anyone, was the reason we kept our sanity. She was technically Greg's secretary but was always back with me in records or up front smiling to every old man, pregnant lady, and red-faced little kid who walked through the door. She took calls and orders from forgetful doctor's offices, loud patients, and evasive insurances. She may have been (but likely wasn't) identical twins pulling a long con.

Being around her fired up my enthusiasm for felling stacks of paper with the intensity of her vibrant, red hair. Not that I held a flame for her. She was lovely. Long, full locks to the middle of her back with composure even at the crawling end of a shift and her fresh fragrance of crisp apples. And a dense bloom of freckle constellations spreading from her nose that she didn't bother to dim with makeup. 

However, she did go through many tubes of skin lotion, often filling the trash cans near her area, especially with the stuff the drug reps left. Apparently a leftover habit from growing up in the dry Southwest but also a vital one when Frostwell lived up to its name in the winter.

Babs dressed well whether she had on stretchy, pink pants with stethoscopes from the nurse outfitter near the highway and a plain gray top or a burgundy blazer and a shiny black skirt with matching hose.

Beyond that, well, Lucy, made much ado about her flat, boyish butt (despite my regular reassurances it didn't matter to me). Colleen could, and often did, burst all sorts of underwear in moments of passion and change. Babs didn't quite hit Colleen's extremes, but it was impossible not to notice her from behind in whatever she wore. That was also true of her front.

Greg's gaze more than once wandered to her bosom during ...uh...large stretches of paperwork. In response, Babs would curl her full, bright lips and say, "When you're finished, my face is up here." Only she said it to him without embarrassment or indignation. Instead, it sounded like something between a hint and a playful joke. 

She never said anything like that to me. She also never lingered around me with a deep breath, like she did when Greg moved several heavy filing cabinets from one part of the office to another for cleaning and worked up a visible sweat. Babs lingered around Greg a lot, following just a step or two behind him whenever he was resolving some problem over the phone, her chest on the verge of grazing his beefy shoulder.

But I wasn't trying to pair them up like Deborah, our phlebotomist. She whisper-gossiped to me whenever Babs and Greg were in the same room. God forbid the door actually be closed or else she'd conjure up something like the garbage she read on her phone between patients. Greg wasn't the sort and Babs was too busy.

Greg hadn't changed much since college. He had curly crown of brown hair where gravity did most of the work of sorting it out and the rest was by him puffing rogue locks out of his eyes. His high cheeks drew his thin, dusty lips up into a natural, genial smile whether I was kicking his butt in Mario Kart or we were kicking back some beers. 

Not to say he never frowned. He told me once, before he dropped out of school for OWL, that he envied my love life. I barely resisted a chuckle. Rebecca just wanted him as a steely decoration on her arm at every social thing. Carol didn't even realize they were dating five weeks in. But holding his tongue around Krystal's snarky putdowns of everyone else was the breaking point.

He said he got more enjoyment "just chilling" with me. Now, there could've been something more to that. I was small and twiggy enough that standing beside Greg's towering, bulky presence at a birthday meal celebration convinced one distracted hostess we were a couple. But that was it. Besides, Greg deserved better.

In spite of nosy Deb, Babs and Greg made sense even though he avoided open interest. Babs pried a few times about what Greg liked (food, wrestling, and PlayStation 2-era games) but I encouraged her to ask him herself, saying, "He's an upfront guy."

Babs would just sit and try to work on anything else at times like that. Then she'd get nervous and tuck her hands between her knees and quiver a bit. And then I wouldn't get any work done without fidgeting myself. When she got up to use the restroom, I'd tap out and go for a walk around the plaza, making a lap of the little, white complex from the tax place to the steakhouse. Wish I'd done that before our big bet. 

Doing a bit of avoiding myself, that takes things to earlier in the evening, just before closing. I quickly dealt with the samples left in the patient restroom before Deb clocked out. 

Babs was rocking in her rolling office chair, her legs restless. I took a deep breath and returned to the last of what I needed to do on a Friday. 

"He told me to take next week off."

Her fair-green eyes blinked as she stared at the wall of organized patient folders in front of her. 

"He did?" I glanced over. Her mom was getting remarried. She'd downplayed it for months. Never that close with her mom. Yes, she had RSVPed but she planned to take an early-afternoon drive for the pre-ceremony because her cheery cousin (who she hadn't seen in years) would be there and then back late to close. 

But it was a long drive upstate and there was an uncle she wanted to visit not too far away and some nice places by the Lake. After wandering mentally a bit, she'd affirm her plan to just miss a few hours.

"Yeah. Monday through Friday. I've never saved up enough days anywhere else for that long off. Can you guys manage?" She glanced at me, but her eyes searched in the direction of Greg's office.

I had no idea. I could barely tread water some days. "We'll be fine. You have a great week."

She dipped her fiery eyebrows. "If you...say so. I should still...well. I can give you a cheat sheet to help."

I raised my own faintly-smoldering eyebrows and shrugged. "If you insist."

So, she made up a sheet like a substitute teacher note. What to know, how to survive, and who to watch out for. Her handwriting was impeccable, as always. I copied it for Greg, who met up with Babs in the hallway.

He reassured her warmly that she deserved time off as gratitude for her work and told her the same as I had. She adjusted her top, glanced down at her heels, and thanked him again.

A quick moment of silence passed before Greg set his eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, "A hug for the road and a safe trip?"

Babs nodded eagerly and wrapped her arms around him. Greg's face clenched and his chin raised. He held his arms around her and gave her a hearty trio of pats on the back. "Have an awesome trip."

She wore a look somewhere between surprise and amusement as his arms slipped back. He noticed the look and quickly added, "Alright?"

With a nod and a smirk, Babs left to get her stuff from the lockers by the break room.

Once she was out of earshot, Greg clutched his face with a groan and massaged the fuzz under his chin. Softly, he muttered, "Fuck me...the fuck was that? Crap."

I withheld my commentary and returned to my last papers. 

With her purse, coat, and other stuff in tow, Babs leaned on Greg's door and told him, with a soft smile, "Thank you again. I really appreciate it but if you guys need anything at all, please call me. Same as my posted number on the wall. Anything, okay?"

Greg nodded, face as chill as any game night back in college. "Got it but don't worry. Just...you be good. Be great. All week." He held up a hand and gripped his desk.

Babs looked him over and then me. I fanned both hands over my head. She snickered, adding only, "Don't kill anyone."

"No promises", I replied, leaning back in my chair.