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We’ll just see about that.
I pick up the first dart and throw it wide. The second catches the outer ring and drops. I take my time with the third, the way I would if I were trying in earnest, and put it inside the inner ring, close enough to Orien’s two for the teenager to lean closer and compare them.
“You won by one point,” the kid points to Orien, already back on his phone.
Our eyes meet, and I shrug. “Guess I’m buying the funnel cake.”
“One more game,” he says, gesturing to the booth next door.
And because I’m not ready to stop playing yet, I agree.
11
The next booth over turns out to be basketball, and I grin.
I won’t even have to pretend to be bad at this one. I can lose all on my own.
Once again, Orien gets his money on the table before I can pull out my wallet, and the teenager brings us a basketball. “Three throws each.”
“You first this time,” Orien says, motioning to the line on the ground.
I grab the ball and lob the first shot wide. The second clips the rim and bounces away.
Before I can reach for the third ball, Orien steps up behind me, the warmth of his body surrounding mine.
“Elbow in,” he murmurs next to my ear and adjusts my arm.
His thumb grazes the inside of my wrist as he steps back, and for a moment I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing as I toss the ball.
“No!” I shout as it swishes through the net.
The teenager gives an impressed whistle, while I glare at my own hand as if it betrayed me.
“My turn.”
Orien steps back to the line, picks up the first ball, and misses. The second follows. He takes a long moment with the third and misses that one, too.
He turns to me with a triumphant tilt to his chin. “Guess I’m buying funnel cake.”
“We’re tied,” I grit out through clenched teeth and grab his arm, dragging him to the ring toss booth that’s next in line.
This time, I’m ready, and I slap five one-dollar bills onto the counter before Orien can pull out his money. My victory earns me a scowl, and I take the rings from the teenager with a little wiggle of happiness at having won one over on the Alpha.
I throw first, aiming for the blue bottle with the lowest point, according to the scoreboard hung behind the counter. The ring catches the rim, bounces off to the side, and wobbles on the lip of the neighboring bottle before settling clean over the red top.
The teenager blinks at it before looking up at the board, where red is shown to have the highest score of them all.
“That doesn’t count,” I protest. “I was aiming for the blue.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Orien says. “It landed.”
I grab his arm, giving it a shake. “That’s not fair! I didn’t earn it!”
“The sign doesn’t say anything about intention.” He gestures at the hand-lettered board. “It says land the ring.”
I straighten, arms folding across my chest, and glare at the bottle as if it wronged me.
Orien picks up his first ring, studies his options, and throws toward a green bottle surrounded by yellows. Even if it bounces onto one of the neighbors, the points will be lower than my current score. The ring clips his target, rattles around, and falls between two bottles.
