He laughs, and despite how tense I am, it offers some relief.
30
I don’t think he understands how mad he makes me when he talks about himself like that. Like he isn’t good enough. Like there’s something wrong with him.
He underestimates how much it annoys me. I try to downplay the severe reaction I have to it now, but sometimes I want to slap some sense into him. I wouldn’t be fucking around with him if I didn’t think he was incredible. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t have done it as much as I have if it wasn’t the kind of sex that leaves me breathless, exhausted, and wishing I could go again one more time to recapture that magic. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t fucked enough people to know the difference between fun fucking and what we have, or maybe Sam fucked him up enough that he has this distorted view of himself.
But what I feel for him is beyond the sex. He’s a good guy. Hell, he helped me out with my sister’s house for free, and then demanded to help create a baby room to give her a fun surprise. Who the fuck does that?
Scott does.
It’s so hard to find people who aren’t like Mom and Dad, who are just in it for themselves.
If we were in different positions in our lives, this would be a date, not just us hanging out. And in a way, I know I’m thinking of it as one because I like Scott, and I enjoy getting to know him more. Even tonight, with the simple conversations we’ve had, I want to keep asking questions. I want him to tell me everything about himself. I want to know about the first guy to break his heart. I want to know about what video games he liked to play when he was younger. I want to know the kind of music he’s into. Although, from being around him, I already know that Shakira and Shania Twain are on his list. I don’t think he realizes that it’s hard to mistake either of them even when he has the earbuds of his iPod in.
There’s so many questions I have, so many things I want to know, but then there’s that rational part of me that wonders why we should do this to either of us when, in a few short weeks, it’s all going to be over. We just have to take what we can, enjoy this now, and then be ready to move on when this project comes to an end.
We finish eating our meal before heading to the games with the Power Cards we got from the front desk after we arrived. I guide Scott to the Skee-Ball lanes first since it’s always been one of my favorites.
“You good?” I ask him.
“Eh. I’m okay.”
I gesture toward the lane. “Bottoms first.”
He steps up and swipes his card in the slot on the side panel. The balls release. He grabs one and takes his first aim. He misses all of the holes for points, and the ball rolls into the return slot. He tries again and again, each time missing horribly.
He glances at me, flustered.
“Don’t worry. It’s okay that you’re shit at Skee-Ball. I can teach you when your turn’s up.”
“I promise. I’m not this bad. I just have to get my technique down.”
“Oh, you have a technique? Really?”
“Whatever.”
He’s about to go again, but he stares at the holes, biting his lip like he’s thinking real hard about it.
God, I hope for his sake he at least gets it in the ten point slot because I don’t know how he can miss after this without me making fun of him at least a little bit.
He takes aim before throwing the ball underhanded, it jumps as it hits the ramp and lands right in one of the two one-hundred point holes.
“Shit, wow,” I say, but despite how impressed I am, I have to believe there was a little bit of luck involved there.
Still, he cocks a brow, and as he turns to me, I can tell he’s gained some confidence.
“Look who’s the conceited one now.”
He takes another turn and lands it in the same slot. Then again. And again, maxing his points for the rest of the game.
When he finishes and I check his score on the digital screen, I gasp.
“Tops up,” he says with a bow and a gesture to indicate it’s my turn.
And fuck if I’m not intimidated.
I take my turn and don’t do nearly as impressively as he did.
