“I bet you can’t beat me, but if you do . . .” I glance at the game, then back at him. “I owe you a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” he asks.
I shrug, dropping a token in and hearing the game come to life with synthesized music and the release of the wooden balls clanging as they tumble into each other. “You’ll have to decide that later.”
“And if you win?” He drops a token in his machine.
I meet his eyes, smiling. “You owe me a favor.”
He exhales softly. “You’re dangerous with open-ended bets.”
My smile widens, pressing firmly against my cheeks. I wonder if he’s thinking about the same thing—the time he owed me a favor and I made him audition for the school play, because there was a romantic scene and I couldn’t stand the thought of doing it with someone who wasn’t him.
It was a small-town love story—a county fair, lights strung across the stage, a crooked porch swing off to one side, and a final scene where the girl almost leaves before the boy stops her with a speech that dragged on forever. It took Milo weeks to memorize those lines. There wasn’t even supposed to be a kiss.
. . . but Milo leaned into the character a little too far, and I didn’t pull away.
“Well then, if I were you . . . I wouldn’t lose.” I wink as the memory melts away. “Now, how do I play this game?”
“All right, you just roll the ball up the ramp and aim for the targets. The one hundred is hard to get, so it’s best if you roll up the center to get the hang of it,” he explains.
I grab a ball and gently roll it up, completely missing all the targets. “Shoot,” I say. “What did I do wrong?”
“Here, let me help you,” Milo says as he slides in behind me. “Grab a ball and we’ll roll it together.”
I reach for another one, letting Milo’s body press up against mine and his hand guide our swing in a straight line. As the ball rolls up, we hit the twenty-point circle.
“See?” he says, placing a quick kiss on my cheek before he goes back to his machine, where he takes a turn and scores thirty points.
This time, I line up the ball, my movement sure and steady, and score thirty points to match his. “Like this?”
“You’ve got it!” he exclaims with a huge smile of pride in believing he’s an excellent teacher.
We roll the next two. Milo hits the thirty-point circle both times, and I make sure to keep mine in the twenty-point circle. Then I have four balls left.
I let a grin of confidence stretch out on my face as I grab a ball. When it leaves my fingers, the ball rolls clean and true, sailing straight into the one hundred-point circle.
Milo’s eyes meet mine, wide and surprised. “You’re a natural!”
“Beginner’s luck,” I murmur, but then I take my last three balls and sink them all in the same corner one after another.
Milo’s jaw slowly drops with each one, until he pulls his mouth up into a wide grin. “Did you just seriously hustle me at Skee-Ball?”
I laugh. “You don’t know everything about me, Hot Shot.”
He grabs for me, pulling my body up against his with his arms wrapped securely around my waist. His laughter ripples throughhis chest as he holds me. “Clearly not. Any other secret talents you have?”
“Skee-Ball is hardly a talent,” I mutter as I look up at him.
“I’m impressed,” he says, his blue eyes bright.
“Then you’re too easily impressed.”
“Not hardly,” he says before his mouth grazes up against mine and I smile against his lips. I hear my tickets forcefully pushing out of the slot, and the machine erupts in sound, declaring me the winner, but I don’t turn my attention to it. Instead, I claim my victory in a kiss.
When I pull away slightly, Milo smiles softly at me. “Any other bets you’d like to make?”
“I bet you’re going to kiss me again,” I whisper.
