Actually it could hurt. A lot. He could pull a muscle. A ball could fly back off the ramp and land on his foot, breaking his big toe, and he’d be unable to compete.
“On second thought,Oliver, this isn’t such a great idea.”
“McKenna!” My name is yelled from behind me in a woman’s voice.
I turn and am met with the smiling faces of Marley and her boyfriend Remi along with his sister Reagan as they march in our direction. Their hands are loaded up with small white Styrofoam containers. “We just finished breakfast. You missed it.”
I missed it? My demeanor falls. I’d been thinkingabout the bacon to get me through. “Is one of those containers bacon?” I point to the three containers Marley is carrying.
“Yup.” She holds one of them out for me. “You want it?”
Suddenly I’m back in the game. “Really?”
“Sure, take it.” She pushes it closer my direction. Like I need more persuasion.
“Thanks,” I say, snatching the container from her.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll steal oneof Remi’s.”
“Hey!” Remi says, clutching his two containers closer to his chest.
“Remi, you’re retired now. You can eat bacon every day now,” Marley says.
It doesn’t seem to ease his despair. “But I’m newly retired. You’ve been eating bacon for years.”
“Exactly, which is why I have to continue the practice. Plus, you had like sixteen pieces at breakfast.”
“Kenny, let’s go.” Oliver tugs onmy coat sleeve like a small child wanting to get his mother’s attention.
“Thanks for the bacon. I have to go.” I leave the three of them in the middle of the lobby arguing over whether Remi ate fifteen or sixteen pieces of bacon at breakfast and how many it takes to clog a heart.
“Do you know where this arcade is?” I ask when Oliver leads us down a random hallway in the back of the hotel.
“Of course. I can sniff out a skee-ball ramp from a mile away. Kind of like you had your nose to that bacon as we entered the lodge.”
I scoff. “Did not.”
He turns back to give me a disbelieving look but doesn’t slow his pace.
Talking about the bacon reminds me of the bacon. I pop open the top of the container and let the delightful smell assault my senses. It’s what I imagine heaven smells like.
The to-go container is full of the fatty goodness and I have to eat three pieces quickly so they don’t fall over the edges and drop to the floor. Nobody wants a bacon tragedy. The first bite is magical as I chew quickly and swallow to start my next piece.
“Chew, Kenny. We wouldn’t want you choking.”
“I am chewing,” I say and then immediately choke when a crispy piece gets lodged in my throat.Oliver stops racing to the arcade long enough to hit me on the back a few times. “I’m fine.”
“Well if you and the bacon decide to get married, make sure you invite me to the wedding.”
“Ha ha ha,” I deadpan, shoving the last two pieces of bacon in my mouth and tossing the white container in a trashcan when we enter the arcade. A tasty dream is gone too soon.
Oliver’s eyes light up and he stopsto take in the large room where hotel management stuck a crazy array of video games and ticket machines.
“First to the skee-ball and then we do basketball toss,” he says pointing to two games set in the far side of the room.
At this point I totally give up fighting with him. If a basketball bounces back from the rim and knocks out his front tooth, he could still compete. You don’t need teethto snowboard. Plus, my stomach is full of delicious bacon. Oliver can do whatever he wants.
“You have to play against me. It’s no fun playing by myself.” He grabs onto my hand and pulls me across the room.
“Sure.”
What Oliver doesn’t know is I play a sport of my own. I might not be a pro athlete but I did play six years of basketball through middle school and high school. I was the highest-scoringpoint guard my junior year. This man is going down.
“I have to get change from the machine. Stay right here.” Oliver positions me in front of a lane for skee-ball and then pulls a wallet from his pocket as he heads toward the ticket counter.
Against my better judgment, I smile. Here I am, way too early in the morning, at an arcade about to play skee-ball with a pro-snowboarder. If you had toldme a year ago this is where I’d be in February, I’d have laughed.
And worst of all, I’m kind of enjoying myself. I’m still pretty sure all athletes are assholes, but there’s something about Oliver. He’s not as stuck up and demanding as the other athletes I’ve worked with since taking this position. His smile is a bit too infectious and his positive attitude annoying. If he wasn’t an athleteand we weren’t at the Winter Games, there’s a possibility I might actually like him.
