We *almost* watched the draft.

We were in the right place—
                    Irby’s,
            drinks in hand,

   screen glowing with team logos,
               awkward handshakes,
                   screaming fans.

We even looked up. (once or twice)

Mostly, though—
    we scouted smiles,  (each other's)
       drafted glances, (off the TV)
       traded laughs,   (at inside jokes)

       and picked moments over players.

We caught enough to pretend we knew
   who traded who,
   what pick meant what.

And in between the laughter,
   the Blues snuck in a win.

Real victory, real scoreboard.
   We caught that part.
   Sort of.
   Maybe.

(we definitely celebrated (twice))

Later—
   there were hugs so good
   the room stopped feeling like a room,

   and kisses between conversations that didn’t need commentary.

So no—
   we didn’t *really* watch the draft.

But we drafted a night I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Perfect picks,
perfect grins,
perfect everything.

And honestly—
    I think we both won.