Page 175 of Roulette Rodeo
My legs kick rhythmically against the front bumper, a steady thump-thump-thump that matches my concentration as I line up my shot.
"Come on, you stupid bird," I mutter, pulling back the slingshot with surgical precision. "Just a little more to the left and?—"
My phone buzzes with an incoming call, Rafe's name flashing across the screen and completely ruining my trajectory.
The bird goes flying wild, missing the structure entirely.
"Goddammit!" I decline the call with perhaps more force than necessary, returning to the game. "Not now, Ice King. I've been stuck on this level for twenty minutes."
The phone buzzes again.
Another call from Rafe.
Decline.
"I'm busy," I tell the phone, as if he can hear me through sheer force of will. "Very important Angry Birds business happening here."
My focus narrows to the screen, the rest of the world fading away. There's something deeply satisfying about the simple physics of it—trajectory, velocity, the satisfying crash when everything comes together perfectly. After three years of constant vigilance, of reading every micro-expression and calculating every interaction, there's a strange peace in just... flinging birds at pigs.
The phone buzzes again.
Decline.
"Seriously?" I grumble, readjusting my grip on the phone. "I'm almost there. Just need to knock out that one support beam and the whole thing comes crashing down."
I line up the shot again, tongue poking out slightly in concentration—a habit from childhood that I've never managed to shake. The yellow bird is perfect for this, with its speed boost that can punch through wood like butter. I just need the angle exactly right...
Another buzz.
Another decline without even looking.
"Rafe, I swear to all that is holy, if you don't let me finish this level?—"
The shot releases, the bird rocketing forward with its characteristic screech. It hits the support beam dead center, and I watch with bated breath as the structure wobbles, tilts, then comes crashing down in a glorious cascade of destruction.
The last pig disappears in a puff of smoke, and the victory fanfare plays.
"YES!" I squeal, throwing my hands up in triumph. "Take that, you bacon-destined bastards! Three stars, baby!"
A low chuckle from behind me makes me nearly drop my phone.
I twist around to find Talon leaning against the garage doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, an amused smirk playing at his lips. He's wearing his work jumpsuit, the dark blue fabric stained with oil and grease, unzipped to his waist with just a white tank top underneath. There's a smudge of something black across his left cheekbone that somehow makes him look even more attractive—that whole'rough around the edges mechanic'vibe that he wears like a second skin.
"What?" I ask, trying to sound innocent despite knowing exactly what he's grinning about.
He chuckles again, pushing off from the doorframe and walking closer.
"You're going to keep avoiding Rafe's calls?"
I watch as he approaches, noting the easy swagger in his step, the way his muscles move under the tank top. Three months of living with these men and I'm still not immune to how unfairly attractive they all are.
"I was busy with Angry Birds!" I whine, waving my phone as evidence.
His laugh is full and rich, the kind that makes his whole body shake.
"Yes, we know. He's been calling you for five minutes straight and you were too involved to hear. He's losing his mind in the group chat."
Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I've been that absorbed.
