Page 62 of The Stud

“Out of four.”

“I still beat that other player!”

“She was twelve.”

“Moving. On,” I grunt in tandem with thrusting the object at her. “I bought these for you.”

Arden giggles, grabs the object, and immediately rolls down the edge of the socks to reveal the rubber ducky pattern.

“I figured you’re onmy feet,” her mirth-filled glare glides up to mine, “I should be onyours.”

She tucks the article into the pocket of her thick, tan fluffy sweater with a crooked grin.

What was I supposed to do?

Notbuy them?

Notgo the extra lap?

Nottake the shot of hopefully getting a smile, which I successfully received?

“You think I won’t wear them,” Arden snips, tone snarky yet flirty.

“Iknowyou won’t wear them.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I knowthatand the fact I’m about to whoop your arse at cornhole.” Picking up my own beanbag precedes me standing and executing a no look throw that effortlessly goes in the target. “You’ve been warned, Ducky.”

“Bring it, Hamster Boy.”

Gino for getting her to smile.

Dub for possibly having a newhighlyunwanted nickname.

Arden steps closer to take her shot and to my surprise, sinks it. “Boooo-yah!”

“Not bad, but,” I pick up a second green beanbag, turn to face the opposite wall, and toss it over my shoulder, smoothly scoring another point, “not good enough.”

“You know you don’t get extra points for style, aye?”

“I do with you.”

Her long nose scrunches in guilt prompting me to smugly smirk again.

Yeah.

Putting in the work isdefinitelygetting me somewhere.

Where exactly?

Dunno.

What I do know?

I’m closer to where I wanna be and further from where I once was, which is what matters.

Getting out of the beer league with her is probably some of the hardest shit I’ve ever done.

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