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“You got this.” He pushed a red beanbag in her hand. “Easy touch, huh? Keep it light and loose.”
“Light and loose,” she repeated before tossing her beanbag way off the mark and nowhere near the board.
“It’s okay. It’s all right.” Jimmy hopped on his toes a few times. “You just need to get warmed up.”
Opposite them, Albie/Bert landed his beanbag on the board before Jimmy took his shot, sinking it. But then Ernie whiffed it too, so it wasn’t a completely lopsided game.
Jimmy and Sam squeaked out a win to advance to the semifinals, and the four all had a good-sport drink at a table while the next two teams took their spots. Mike and Mr. Ewing and Mr. and Mrs. Lindenbaum faced off as Sam slowly sipped a margarita.
Mike wore a baseball hat again, and it shadowed his face, but when he tilted his head toward hers, she smiled, knowing he was regarding her. The corner of his mouth ticked up in acknowledgment, and she offered him a wave of her pinkie as she raised her glass to her lips. He did the same, lifting his beer bottle to his mouth.
“Right, Sam?”
She blinked away from Mike to Jimmy. “Huh?”
“The year something went wrong with the fireworks and the guy went to the hospital with third-degree burns. What was that? Four, five years ago?”
“Oh, uh, five, I think.”
Jimmy went on to tell the story about how the guy came back to continue working on the firework display the next year, building it bigger and bigger each consecutive year. As if he had something to prove.
“It’s crazy,” Jimmy said, but Sam couldn’t pay attention. Not with Mike’s T-shirt clinging to his biceps and back.
They hadn’t been able to see each other all week outside of walks and him helping to move boxes up from the basement. It was pretty impossible to be intimate in Sam’s childhood bed with her dad in the kitchen and in Mike’s basement apartment with his family coming and going, and his mom making dinner for anyone and everyone who dropped by.
Sam had been waiting to get him alone again, but that was clearly not going to happen at this picnic.
With her mind’s eye on Mike’s naked body, she was jolted back to reality when Jimmy stood up with a clap. He pointed to the cornhole area, his voice carrying far and wide so everyone in attendance could hear him say, “And with that last match, the first round concludes. We’ll start the semi-finals in…” He checked the time on his phone. “Fifteen minutes.” Then he held up the printed paper to read aloud, “The two Taylors are up against Bill McCarthy and Dave O’Donnell. The twins up against the Irish mafia, should be a good time!”
Everyone laughed and went back to whatever they were doing, while Jimmy scooted out from behind the table to rearrange the cornhole boards, making sure they were perfect. For as much as he was a clown, he used his powers for good.
“Hey, peaches,” Mike said, taking a seat next to Sam.
She smiled at him, using her index finger to lift the bill of his cap a few centimeters to meet his dark gaze. “Hi.”
When she dropped her hand in her lap, he dragged his knuckles over the side of her hand and wrist. “What do you say to a little wager?”
“A wager?”
He nodded, glancing briefly to Bert and Ernie, who were busy watching a video on Ernie’s phone.
Sam crossed her legs so that her knee brushed Mike’s. “What do you have in mind?”
“Whoever’s team makes it farther wins?”
“And what’s at stake?”
He raised his slashed eyebrow. “Winner’s choice.”
She stared off in the distance, petting an imaginary beard in thought. “If I win…”
He leaned into her, and she turned to him, pleasantly surprised to find him close. Close enough to skim the tip of his nose over her shoulder, bared by her paisley-print romper.
“If you win, what?” he asked.
She swallowed, forgetting what she had in mind. Something about Cedar Point. “I’m not sure.”
He hummed thoughtfully and sat back up, meeting her eyes. “Well, if I win, you’re coming to bed with me.”
