Page 158 of Merciless Daddy

I sent the puck right.

It hit the goal with a triumphant plastic clack.

“Yes,” I shouted.

Sal stared at me.

“Did you just yell?”

“I was expressing confidence.”

“You yelled yes.”

“I won.”

“You did.”

I lifted my chin. “Say it.”

“You won.”

“Say I’m better at air hockey.”

He put both hands flat against the table.

“You are better at air hockey. My god, give me strength with this woman.”

“Good boy.”

He gave me a look that I swear nearly killed me.

“What did you say?”

“Nothig Daddy, absolutely nothing!”

Then he beat me at skee-ball.

Not barely.

Humiliatingly.

“That machine is rigged,” I said as his ball rolled into the highest ring again.

“It’s a machine from 1989.”

“Exactly. You bribed it decades ago.”

“I was eleven.”

“You were already corrupt.”

He looked at me with perfect solemnity. “Hmmm. That is true.”

I cheated on the next round.

Not elegantly. I waited until he looked away, then dropped three balls into the top ring from directly above it.

Sal watched the score change.