Page 17 of The Riley Effect

“When did you score?” She pouts, putting her full lips on display.

“Gotta stay on your toes, Vee,” I tell her while waving my red and green paddle over the table. “Expect the unexpected.”

“Did you get that advice from a fortune cookie?” she mocks. But the same competitive glow that seeped through her during the beer pong game lights up her face.

While placing the puck on the table, she looks at me, “I’m not losing to you again, Jalen. The party was a one-time thing.”

I haven’t dated much, mostly just random hookups that last a few weeks before eventually fizzling out, but there is something different about dating another athlete. Especially because Ivy loves to shit talk, and we share the same competitive spirit. Since her intensity matches mine, I don’t feel like I have to tamper down how badly I hate losing when I’m with her.

Ivy wastes no time trying to even up the score after my surprise goal. We’re volleying the puck for a while before I miscalculate my timing, and the puck slips into the goal I’m defending. It took all of a minute for Ivy to even up the score.

“Just remember, big boy, this is the game you chose.” She winks, and I’m turned on by her trash talk. I mean, it helps that it’s coming from Ivy and not a two-hundred-and-ten-pound defenseman trying to beat me into the boards.

10

Ivy

This has to be the most intense Air Hockey game ever played. Did you know you can sweat just from pushing a puck back and forth on a table that blows out cold air? Because I didn’t.

I refuse to back down from the icy blue eyes Jalen is trying to use to knock me off my game. The intense competitive glow is making me feel some type of way and I am not sure I’m hiding it well.

Jalen is a point away from taking the game and winning the bet. I appreciate that he isn’t just handing me the victory, but I would never forgive myself if he secures another win tonight. I have too much pride to be a two-time loser.

I’ll deny it to anyone who asks, but I’m having a really good time tonight. At the party, he was fun and easy-going and looked sexy as hell in fitted jeans and a button-up that unfortunately didn’t expose enough of his tattoos. Tonight, he possesses the kind of quiet confidence–in cargo pants and a Westvale hockey crewneck– that I could only dream of having.

He listened to every story I told about my family like I was explaining the plot of some Christopher Nolan film. What I really loved about dinner with Jalen was that when we started talking about sports, he didn’t quiz me like I needed to prove to him I knew where Joe Burrow went to college- Geaux Tigers- but I did tell him I owned his number nine jersey.

On the night of the party, I made an alcohol-fueled bet, but there is no excuse for the bet I made tonight. I made it because I want to spend more time with Jalen. I couldn’t have been more transparent if I had tried.

But my pride is still at play, and I refuse to let Jalen have another thing to hold over my head. Strip beer pong is enough.

“Have you ever skated before?” Jalen asks as he picks up his beer from the edge of the Air Hockey table.

“I haven’t. I was nervous to when I was young because I’m a little clumsy.” I pinch my thumb and index finger together. My sister used to joke that I could rival any little boy in the number of trips we had to make to the hospital for stitches. I’ve been four times. “Then basketball became my life, and I was nervous I would injure myself and not be able to play.”

“Well, you better be ready to get that cute little butt of yours on the ice.”

Add his smug tone to the list of reasons I need to win this stupid arcade game. The cockiness he is displaying needs to be taken down a notch.

After Jalen puts his beer down, the puck is dropped, and it’s do or die.

We’re tied six to six. The next goal wins.

The orange disc moves effortlessly down the pint-sized rink. I make sure to prop my elbows on the edge of the table when I go to stop the puck. Jalen, like the simple-minded man he is, falls for the trick. His eyes go straight to my breasts that are pouring over the top of my bodysuit. I’ve noticed the subtle glances he has given them all night. He barely hits the puck, so I am easily able to stop it when it makes it down to my end of the table. I make a mental note to thank Lola for the outfit suggestion.

A low laugh comes from the opposite end of the table when I place the sign of the cross over my body and let the puck fly. I see the flashing lights before I hear the sound of victory- an annoyingly loud alarm- but it means I extend the series to game seven.

“Losers first,” I say with a glowing smile. I push a chaste kiss to Jalen’s cheek before I rise on my toes and whisper in his ear. “I’d wish you good luck, big boy, but I got this one in the bag.”

“I liked it better when you ignored me,” Jalen rolls his eyes and huffs out a harsh breath.

We decided to share a warm-up game. Jalen’s first shot is smooth, and I’m starting to get a little nervous.

“Did you ever play basketball?” I ask before taking my last shot. “Your form is perfect.”

“It’s almost like a right of passage to play hoops in my neighborhood,” he says as the buzzer goes off, signaling the end of our practice round. “My dad played basketball and had a ball in my hand by my third birthday. I played hockey and basketball for as long as I could, but eventually, I had to choose.”

When I turn and face the mini basketball hoop, Jalen tries to slap the ball out of my grip.

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