Page 38 of Fair Catch

“Are you done choking on air?” I ask when he’s finally managed to stop.

A sour look is aimed in my direction. “Depends, are you done being a complete perv on purpose?”

“If it helps me win? Absolutely not.”

“You’re ruthless,” he says, laughing now, but pink still clings to his face and neck.

“I prefer the term…competitive.” I stop us in front of the skeeball machines and motion for him to insert the nickels. “But regardless, it’s time for you to put up or shut up.”

“You forget I’m a college athlete? Competitiveness is literally ingrained in my DNA.”

“Care to make a bet on that?”

His attention flicks to me as the balls start rolling down the track for us to throw. “What do you have in mind?”

Like taking candy from a baby.

“Five games. If I go undefeated, you cook for a week. You win a single one of the five…” I trail off, thinking of a good alternative. “I dunno? Then I have to come to one of your games this season.”

“You’d do that?”

I shrug, not wanting to make a production out of the offered terms.

“I mean, I’m not exactly a fanatic for any sport, but I’ve gone to plenty of Q’s hockey games. I’m sure I’ll pick up on football just as quickly.” Pausing, I add, “Not that I have any intention of losing to you in skeeball.”

He ignores my skeeball comment, instead focusing on the fact that I’d dare to compare hockey and football.

“Football is a lot harder to understand than hockey. There arewaymore rules, and—”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure a baseball player would say the same thing. Now, are you gonna keep arguing with me to stall, or are you gonna put your money where your mouth is?”

I can tell he’s trying to keep from circling back to the hockey and football debate—which he thankfully doesn’t.

“Terms accepted. May the odds be ever in your favor, Hazey.”

“Don’t worry, they are.” I smirk, grabbing my first ball. Not even that stupid nickname is gonna get in my head when it comes to this. “Let’s see what you got, Fuller.”

Ten

Kason

True to his word, Hayes annihilates my ass at skeeball the first few games. Somehow, I manage to sneak one win in against his four, which is all I need to win the bet, though that single win is the biggest fluke ever.

The entire time he’s in such close proximity to me while we battle it out, I can barely focus on the task at hand. My eyes are too busy fixating on the way his arms flex beneath his shirt, or the taut muscles of his back every time he grabs a new ball.

With a view like that, I don’t think anyone can blame me for taking a seat on the struggle bus.

He uses it to his advantage too, whooping my ass on the air hockey table, in foosball, and on some of the arcade games later on. I guess when he said he was competitive, he failed to mention he was also the world’s biggest try-hard. But despite losing every single game but one, today has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

To my surprise, our evening doesn’t end at the arcade, either. Hayes takes me to this hole-in-the-wall pizza parlor a few blocks away from Pixel Palace, claiming that the winner—him, obviously—was buying us a late,latedinner.

There’s only one other table with patrons by the time our food comes out, and I get my first slice of actual heaven.

“Oh, my God,” I mumble between bites of cheesy, gooey bliss. “Thissoisn’t approved by the team dietitian, but I don’t have it in me to care right now.”

“Everyone swears by Giordano’s, and don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But I prefer this place.”

“Another locals only place, huh?”

---