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“You sure? It’s got me about twelve hoops ahead.”
I make a dramatic gasping noise and chuck the ball at him. instead of the hoop. It hits him square in the shoulder.
He looks absolutely betrayed.
“Foul play!” he yells, grinning. “I demand a rematch.”
“Too bad. I’m retiring. My arms are jello and my pride is hanging on by a thread. I need snacks.”
“Aw, come on.” He steps closer, all ‘professional athlete‘ smugness and bouncing adrenaline. “We were just getting started.”
I hold up a hand. “If I do one more game, my limbs will file a lawsuit.”
He taps his chin, mock thoughtful. “Then let’s settle it with something lower impact.”
I narrow my eyes. “Like what?”
“Air hockey. Pure wrist. No cardio. Perfect for a sore loser like you.”
I gasp. “You take that back.”
“Make me.”
And just like that, we’re off again.
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Chapter 132
288 Vouchers
EMILIA
There’s probably something mildly concerning about how the second Liam and I start competing, I lose all sense of my surroundings.
I stop noticing the crowd pressing in around us, the blaring sounds from a dozen machines, the fact that the smell of popcorn wasn’t, in fact, just a delusion born from hunger and adrenaline. A group of kids huddle by the claw machine, yelling as a stuffed bear slips from the metal pincers, and I’m hit with this weird, almost bittersweet déjà vu.
“Have you ever noticed every place you take me is wildly fun?” I say, scanning the room with him in search of the air hockey table. Liam mumbles something about them having moved it since he was last here. “You’re either losing at arcade games, failing to win me stuffed animals, or crashing weddings. It’s all very moving. And, somehow, always deeply humiliating you.”
–
for
His brow twitches. For a brief second, I wonder if this is the one jab too many and his face is about to shatter into stone chips. “Sounds like I’ve rubbed off on you,” he says flatly. “Because you haven’t won anything since that first round.”
“That’s because you strategically held off on bringing up air hockey,” I say, smug. “I don’t mean to brag – except I absolutely do – but I’m a beast at it.”
I pause. A small smile sneaks onto my face, quieter than the ones before, touched with something old and a little sad.
“I used to wipe the floor with Luther and Diana.”
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Liam looks over at me then, a flicker of something softer
passing through his expression before it vanishes. “Guess I’ll finally be getting justice for them.”
“All you do is talk big.”
“True,” he says, a cocky glint returning to his eyes. “But I win even bigger.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Calloway.”
Then, casually, he waves down a guy in a faded staff shirt. “By the way, air hockey’s been moved, right? Near the photo booths now?”
The staff nods, pointing vaguely to the back corner.
–
“Thanks, mate,” Liam says, then glances back at me. “And to answer your earlier question – about why everywhere I take you is fun it’s because it’s not a date unless you’re having a good time. And you,” he adds with a smirk, “don’t exactly strike me as the type who enjoys watching fish for fun. Salivating over Squidward, maybe, but…”
I swat his arm, but my brain’s already caught on something more important. “This is a date?”
He blinks, caught mid–smirk. “You mean you didn’t know?”
“You never said it was a date,” I say, trying and failing to sound unaffected. Like my heart isn’t clenching in my chest. “And- and–dates aren’t supposed to be like this.”
We stop walking. The noise of the arcade fades just a little as we turn to face each other in the kaleidoscope glow of a claw
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machine.
His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Like what?”
“I…” I falter. The words tangle somewhere between my throat and pride. “I’m supposed to dress up. Get my makeup done. Wear something fancy. Something that makes it obvious.”
I gesture vaguely to my outfit. It’s cute. But not ‘date cute.‘ Not ‘wearing the dress we fought over in that overpriced shop‘ cute. Not what I’d have chosen if I knew this was supposed to mean something.
Liam’s expression softens, the usual teasing fading into something quieter. “You look perfect. Just like this.”
I shake my head, maybe a little too fast. “You don’t get it. Dates aren’t supposed to be so casual.” I gesture vaguely between us. “We’re supposed to be dressed up. At some candlelit
restaurant. Sitting across from each other, talking and ordering food that sounds better on the menu than it actually is.”
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