Page 39 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

I pointed at the Skee-Ball machine. “You know, where you roll the balls and try to make them jump into the rings—”

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know that had a name.”

“What about you?”

His face split into an annoyingly confident smile. “Zombie Invasion.”

We decided to tackle Skee-Ball first. It became immediately apparent that Declan had no clue how to play Skee-Ball—or at least he wasn’t very good at playing it. He kept missing the rings entirely.

“I get the feeling you didn’t play many sports growing up,” I commented, just as he rolled one of the heavy plastic balls. It careened sideways and ricocheted off the hollow plastic siding of Down the Clown before clattering to the floor.

“You knew me in high school.” He stooped to collect the ball before it got away. “Did I seem like the type to play sports?”

“You seemed like the type to get kicked off the team.” I made two fifty-pointers in a row, easily outstripping his score.

“I got kicked off of my Little League team when I was eleven,” he said when he’d straightened back up, ball in hand.

“Stop. You did not.” I laughed, but when he only responded with a sheepish smile, I realized he was serious. “What happened?”

“I was making a run for second base and one of the other kids came up behind me to tag me out. I panicked and elbowed him in the face. It was an accident,” he said quickly, because my face was probably horrified. “No one believed me, though. He had this massive black eye afterwards. My mom was super mad because she’d paid for the whole season in advance. They refused to give us a refund. Said it was all in the contract.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair. And it doesn’t seem like enough of a reason to kick you off the team.”

“There might’ve been another time playing shortstop.” He bent to line up his next shot. “And also, the one and only time they made me the catcher. I guess I’m not very good at thinking on my feet, in physical situations.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Good to know.”

He shot me a confused look, brow furrowed for the briefest of moments before realization dawned. “Athletic situations,” he amended, a blush creeping up his neck. “I should have said athletic situations. I’m fine in bed.” I resisted the urge to laugh as he cleared his throat and lined up his last shot. There was also no way he could beat my score at this point, so finishing was more a matter of principle. “Not that you were asking. Just, you know. Public service announcement.”

“I’m sure the public will appreciate that,” I said in a mock-serious voice, still fighting off the giggles. “So what I’m hearing is that under no circumstances are you allowed to participate in the garter toss, unless we want someone to end up with a black eye.” He rolled the ball so hard that it bounced off the backboard and I flinched. “Or, alternative solution: we make all the single guys at the wedding wear umpire masks, just to be safe.”

“That would make it easy for the single girls to figure out who’s available,” he said, straightening up. I ignored the prickling irritation at the thought of anyone eyeballing him like he was available, despite the fact that I had no intentions beyond these two weeks. His final score flashed on the red LED screen above the game: a measly 110. “Looks like you win this round.”

It wasn’t until Zombie Invasion that I had the sneaking suspicion he was letting me win.

We huddled on the bench, which was obviously made for children, because it was far too small for two slightly-taller-than-average adults. The bare skin of my legs brushed up against his, and when I bent to grab the blue laser gun, I purposely let my hand graze his thigh. Every touch was charged, hypersensitive, but I didn’t dare try anything more blatant. I was hovering in this weird place, unsure of how to move forward. I was fairly certain I was overthinking this.

It wasn’t that I was still questioning his interest; he’d made it clear he was attracted to me, and it was especially clear tonight, both of us giddy, our guards down. The problem was, I was starting to second-guess how far that interest extended. What he was expecting from this. Because he’d made it clear he didn’t want to be an anecdote for the podcast, and I’d let him believe he wouldn’t be, and now I wasn’t sure where that left us. Despite the catchy podcast title, I was pretty sure I hadn’t broken any hearts in the past. I’d never let things get far enough for that. And now, faced with the prospect of taking things far on purpose, I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I was standing at the precipice. I could step off the ledge or chicken out, but instead I was rooted in place, paralyzed by indecision.

The inside of the game booth was hidden behind a dark curtain, the only light emanating from the bluish, pixelated screen. Declan swiped the card and fired his gun at the two-player button. “Ready to get owned?”

“ ‘Owned’?” I repeated. “Is that still a thing people say, or are you just so out of touch that you’re still using slang from the Call of Duty lobby when you were twelve?”

The game had already started, and I’d lost valuable time with my little dig. But after a couple well-placed headshots, I took the lead. I glanced sideways at Declan as we struggled to hold off a torrent of badly animated zombies. He was focused on the game. There was no reason I should have been outshooting him. I liked my fair share of video games—usually party games like Mario Kart or Rock Band, and a short-lived but embarrassingly passionate stint of FarmVille back in middle school—but zombie shooters were not my forte.

“Oh, shit,” Declan said, just as his character’s health bar ran empty. I held out for a couple seconds longer, and then my character died, too.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“We’d have to add more credits if we wanted to keep playing,” he said. “But you won fair and square. I owe you a slice of pizza.”

I wanted to point out that I didn’t actually win fair and square because I was certain he’d gone easy on me, but free pizza sounded nice and sobering right about now. Nothing like a slice of greasy, cheesy pizza to settle the stomach. I set my laser gun back in the holster and struggled to my feet on wobbly sandal heels. “Yeah, let’s—”

My right heel gave out from under me and I fell back, landing squarely on his lap.

The split second that I sat there, shocked, seemed to last a lifetime. Through the light, summery material of my romper, I could feel him pressed up against me, and I jolted to my feet like I’d been electrocuted, planting my hands on the screen to steady myself. I didn’t even want to imagine what sort of view Declan was getting right now, the way I was bent over. Without looking at him, I stumbled past the curtain and back out into the arcade.

Okay, I was officially chickening out.