“So eager to lose again, Hart?” he taunts, pulling another token from his pocket. I hold up a hand and hurry to pull off my parka. It isn’t until I slide out of the sleeves that I remember what I’m wearing. We might only be in an arcade, with all the other twenty-somethings, tired parents and their hyperactive children, but I still feel underdressed. We are on a date after all, and I’m wearing a sweater that’s sliding down over my collarbones and fraying at the sleeves.
I should have never listened to–
“Oh, my God, I never should have listened to Olli!” Nicko groans, causing me to look up and over at him. He has stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his own jacket, his eyes sweeping over me. After another moment he huffs, then slips out of it, letting it drop to the ground. He’s wearing a neatly pressed dressshirt, tucked into his dark pants. Seeing the orderly folds of his button-down makes me even more self-conscious. At the same time warmth blooms in my chest.
The day he leaves his sweatpants at home,indeed. With a start I realize that Nate is right. I don’t know why Nicko acts allergic to proper clothes, because the dark gray material stretches perfectly over his chest. Two buttons are undone at his throat, exposing just enough pale skin to make my mouth go dry.
“You…you asked your roommate? About what to wear?” I manage to tie enough words together—and to also tear my eyes away from how the material shimmers in the lights of the arcade.
“Well, yeah? He said I couldn’t golooking like a hobo.” Nicko’s fingers draw air quotes next to his head.
“It…it suits you. Very well.”
“Yeah, but now I feel like an idiot.” His eyes flicker over me.
I look down as well, huffing out a half-strangled laugh as I pluck on the collar of my sweater so it’ll lie neatly over my collarbones.
“Nate told me to wear this,” I lean forward onto the table, letting him see the worn-out sleeve sliding up over my wrist as I reach for the paddle.
He stares at it, then looks up at me again. His cheeks are flushed, and there’s heat in his gaze that has me shift. I look at him for a moment too long and miss when he inserts the token, putting me at an immediate disadvantage as he smacks the disk toward my goal.
“Cheat!” I accuse, but within seconds I’m too involved in our fast-paced back-and-forth to care. The puck flits across the surface, smacking the sides as well as our paddles. Every time he scores, Nicko grins at me.
At the end the neon lights flash on his side, and I’m forced to concede the mastery of air hockey to him.
“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff! Say it, Xanxan!” he prompts, weaving around the table and grinning broadly at me. I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. His thrilled smile has my heart jumping into my throat.
“You’re the master of air hockey, Nicholas van der Hoff.”
“Damn right!” He nods in satisfaction, then saunters on, considering the machines nearby. When he stops next to one with two seats and steering wheels, I shake my head, pulling him onward by his arm.
“Oh, absolutely not!”
“Why not?!”
“Because you already beat me at three of these! No, let’s try that!” I point at a screen that has a checkerboard pattern laid out in front of it. Nicko stops short.
“No.”
“Come on!”
“No! I can’t dance for shit, Xan. Come on, let’s shoot some zombies again or–”
“I can’t dance either. Here,” I amend, putting a token into the slot and throwing my parka at him to hold. “I’ll prove it.”
Nicko crosses his arms and stands off to the side.
It’s a two-player game, and I have to admit that I do feel ridiculous jumping around on the flashing tiles.
Despite my best efforts, the virtual crowd boos me at the end. I don’t care, because I can hear Nicko laughing behind me. He’s doubled over, barely keeping himself upright when I finally turn around and take a mocking bow at him.
He tips his head back and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, really impressive. I think playing that was a loss in and of itself.”
I snort and bump my shoulder against his, not entirely agreeing that it was a total flop. “Let’s get something to eat. I know a good place.”
***
I confidently lead us outside of the mall, along only a few streets until we reach the waterfront. From there it isn’t far to The Gull’s Post, a small seafood restaurant. I hold the door open for him, looking over my shoulder when Nicko pauses.
