Chapter 45
SADIE
Why do the clink of tokens and the cheerful chaos of arcade sounds—the beeps, the buzzes, and the overenthusiastic victory jingles—make me feel like a kid again?
Like life can be measured in turns and tickets, and the only real problem is whether I’ve got enough coins left to keep the balls rolling or the screen glowing.
I shake the cup of tokens in my hand, the plastic warm in my palm. “Ready?”
Milo grins at me. “I haven’t played these kinds of games in a long time.”
“I’m going to beat you.” I smirk.
He chuckles. “At what exactly? You already know my tickets are yours.”
“I bet I can beat you.” I say the magic word, knowing Milo can’t resist.
He steps closer. “Which game?”
I glance around the arcade, taking in all the neon lights and the printed carpet that only belongs in a place like this.
I used to go to the arcade with a couple college friends before I moved back to Dusty Hollow.
I was the fifth wheel, and I’d find myself spending all my tokens playing Skee-Ball.
I can hit the one hundred-point circle with ease, but Milo doesn’t know that.
My ears search for the familiar sound of the wooden ball rolling up the ramp as my eyes scan the large room, and when I spot it, I look at Milo, point toward Skee-Ball and say innocently, “I’ve always wanted to try that game.”
“Skee-Ball?” he questions.
I shoot him my most angelic expression. “Unless you’re too scared . . .”
He grabs my hand and tugs me along, and I internally pump my fist in anticipation. While Milo makes bet to lose, I fully intend to win the bets I make.
When we are standing in front of the game, he turns to me. “What’s the bet?”
“I bet you can’t beat me, but if you do . . .” I glance at the game, then back at him. “I owe you a favor.”
“What kind of favor?” he asks.
I shrug, dropping a token in and hearing the game come to life with synthesized music and the release of the wooden balls clanging as they tumble into each other. “You’ll have to decide that later.”
“And if you win?” He drops a token in his machine.
I meet his eyes, smiling. “You owe me a favor.”
He exhales softly. “You’re dangerous with open-ended bets.”
My smile widens, pressing firmly against my cheeks. I wonder if he’s thinking about the same thing—the time he owed me a favor and I made him audition for the school play, because there was a romantic scene and I couldn’t stand the thought of doing it with someone who wasn’t him.
It was a small-town love story—a county fair, lights strung across the stage, a crooked porch swing off to one side, and a final scene where the girl almost leaves before the boy stops her with a speech that dragged on forever.
It took Milo weeks to memorize those lines.
There wasn’t even supposed to be a kiss.
. . . but Milo leaned into the character a little too far, and I didn’t pull away.
“Well then, if I were you . . . I wouldn’t lose.” I wink as the memory melts away. “Now, how do I play this game?”
“All right, you just roll the ball up the ramp and aim for the targets. The one hundred is hard to get, so it’s best if you roll up the center to get the hang of it,” he explains.
I grab a ball and gently roll it up, completely missing all the targets. “Shoot,” I say. “What did I do wrong?”
“Here, let me help you,” Milo says as he slides in behind me. “Grab a ball and we’ll roll it together.”
I reach for another one, letting Milo’s body press up against mine and his hand guide our swing in a straight line. As the ball rolls up, we hit the twenty-point circle.
“See?” he says, placing a quick kiss on my cheek before he goes back to his machine, where he takes a turn and scores thirty points.
This time, I line up the ball, my movement sure and steady, and score thirty points to match his. “Like this?”
“You’ve got it!” he exclaims with a huge smile of pride in believing he’s an excellent teacher.
We roll the next two. Milo hits the thirty-point circle both times, and I make sure to keep mine in the twenty-point circle. Then I have four balls left.
I let a grin of confidence stretch out on my face as I grab a ball. When it leaves my fingers, the ball rolls clean and true, sailing straight into the one hundred-point circle.
Milo’s eyes meet mine, wide and surprised. “You’re a natural!”
“Beginner’s luck,” I murmur, but then I take my last three balls and sink them all in the same corner one after another.
Milo’s jaw slowly drops with each one, until he pulls his mouth up into a wide grin. “Did you just seriously hustle me at Skee-Ball?”
I laugh. “You don’t know everything about me, Hot Shot.”
He grabs for me, pulling my body up against his with his arms wrapped securely around my waist. His laughter ripples through his chest as he holds me. “Clearly not. Any other secret talents you have?”
“Skee-Ball is hardly a talent,” I mutter as I look up at him.
“I’m impressed,” he says, his blue eyes bright.
“Then you’re too easily impressed.”
“Not hardly,” he says before his mouth grazes up against mine and I smile against his lips. I hear my tickets forcefully pushing out of the slot, and the machine erupts in sound, declaring me the winner, but I don’t turn my attention to it. Instead, I claim my victory in a kiss.
When I pull away slightly, Milo smiles softly at me. “Any other bets you’d like to make?”
“I bet you’re going to kiss me again,” I whisper.
“And if I don’t?” he asks.
“Then you’d be a fool.”
A smile spreads across his face, and then he presses his lips into mine.
I laugh against his mouth. “I win.”
“I’m always rooting for you, Bookworm,” he murmurs before he kisses me again.