“Carnival games?” James suggests. “We make two teams. Loser buys dinner tomorrow night?”
“How about men versus women?” Marissa says, and everyone nods.
“Let’s go, boys,” Aaron says, throwing an arm around Maxime and James.
Baptiste leans down toward me. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”
I shoot him a challenging smile. “Right back at you.”
9
Baptiste
We move as a loose pack through colorful rows of game stands, teasing each other and laughing. Neon lights blink overhead, bells ringing every time someone wins a prize. The air smells like sugar, grease, and asphalt that’s been baking in the July heat all day. Somewhere behind us, music thumps from a stage, the bass notes vibrating through the ground.
“All right,” Adler says, clapping his hands together. “Ring bottle toss. Wifey, you’re up.”
Beth just rolls her eyes. “Fine, let’s do it.”
All my money is on Adler—who’s obnoxiously confident, landing one of three rings—but the second Beth steps up, calm and focused, I know he’s in trouble.
She tosses the rings with surgical precision.
One lands. Then another.
And another.
The bell chimes, loud and crisp.
“Oh no,” Beaumont says, laughing already. “This is not looking good for you, man.”
Beth turns around, hands on her hips. “Told you.”
Adler groans dramatically. “I was distracted.”
“By what?” Marissa asks. “Your massive ego?”
Everyone laughs as Adler throws his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Next game.”
He turns to Beaumont and jabs a finger at him. “You. Make this right.”
Beaumont and Hayley go head-to-head on a water gun game, him going first—and having decent success. But none of us are prepared for what follows. Hayley leans in, jaw set, and absolutely demolishes her round—ducks dropping one by one in record time.
“I am both deeply offended that I lost,” Beaumont says, pulling her toward him, “and incredibly impressed by your sharpshooting skills.”
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Also… a little scared. Not gonna lie.”
Hayley just grins.
“Hoops,” Miles announces, pointing at the next stall. “Who’s up?”
“We’ll go,” I say, stepping forward and glancing at Harper.
I’m not particularly good at basketball, but I am eager to play Harper. And if we keep losing at this rate, I won’t even get the chance.
“Are you sure?” Beaumont asks. “All our hopes rest on your shoulders, bro.”
“Yeah,” Harper says, crossing her arms. “I’d think twice about this one. I did play pro in my early years.”
