“Damn it,” I mutter after my latest throw flies wide and lands behind the reception desk. “I feel like a kid going bowling for the first time with this technique.”
Peter’s guffaw echoes across the near-empty gym. “While you might look like one, a kid going bowling for the first time at least gets the ball all the way down the lane once or twice. Your aim is even worse this way, if that’s possible.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. But how? I’m facing the board and swinging the bean bag through my legs. It shouldn’t be possible for me to throw the bean bag this far in the wrong direction.” I gesture to the bean bag on the floor behind the reception desk. “The only way I could get further from the board is if I throw the damn bag backward.”
Peter rubs a thumb and forefinger over his stubbled chin. “I can’t wrap my head around it. You’ve thwarted every method I’ve tried teaching you. Are you sure you ain’ttryingto miss?” He cocks a bushy gray eyebrow in question. “Because the only time I’ve ever seen anyone mess up this badly is when they were trying to throw a match.”
I stoop to grab the bean bag and jog back to where Peter waits. “No way. No. Get that out of your head right now. I would never throw a match. I have too much integrity for that.”
“How would you explain it, then? Because I’m stumped.”
I scrub a hand through my hair in frustration. “I don’t know what to tell you, Peter. I really am trying to get the bean bag in the hole. Why is this game so hard?”
Peter’s grin takes up half his face, which would startle me if I hadn’t already seen him smile a few times today. Whatever else this mysterious Sarah from the past has done, she’s made him a happier man. “It takes a real athlete to play cornhole, kid. Some overgrown steroid freak in tights who gets paid to dance around without the courage to sing at the same time just ain’t cut out for it, I guess.”
It’s a sign of my frustration level that I let Peter’s usual anti-wrestling rant get to me. “Damn it, Peter. I was never a wrestler. I was a mixed martial arts fighter. A master of several fighting styles. An undefeated heavyweight champion. I did one stint on a professional wrestling program as a PR stunt. And I didn’t wear tights, I wore wrestling jeans. Oh, and I am not now, nor have I ever been on steroids.” I suck in a breath and continue. “Now, can we get back to the lesson? Because I have enough shit on my mind without listening to you whine about how wrestling is Broadway’s crappy cousin.”
Peter pats his hands in a placating manner. “Okay, okay. Don’t get your tiny shorts in a twist, kid. We can get back to the lesson if you like. But first, you just gave me an idea.”
“I’m not wearing tights and singing you something fromWicked, Peter. There will be no ‘Defying Gravity’ around here.”
Peter scoffs. “Pshh, as if you could ever hold a candle to the incomparable Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth.”
“Maybe not, but I can lip sync with the best of them. Regardless, it’s not Broadway night at Put Up Your Ducks MMA. Tell me your idea. I’ll do pretty much anything if it helps my cornhole game.”
Peter hobbles to a bench and sits down. “You’ll hate it. But it might help. It probably would have helped me all those years ago.”
I drop to the floor in front of him, elbows on my knees. “Okay, then I’m game. What’d you have in mind?”
“You need to talk about what’s bothering you.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.How does he know that?
“Why would you think something’s bothering me?”
He laughs. “Come on, kid. You’ve been distracted all day. I made you throw the bean bag from between your legs, for crying out loud. When have you ever seen a self-respecting cornholer do that? I was messing with you.”
That son of a bitch. I bark a laugh. “You asshole. I thought that seemed weird.”
He holds his phone up and shakes it at me. “Thanks to that nice girl from the reception desk, I also have video evidence of the whole thing. Now I’ll never stop laughing.”
I drop my head between my arms, chuckling until my shoulders shake. “I’m sure it made for some interesting footage.”
“Indeed, it did.” He chuckles as he slides his phone back into his pocket. “Now. Spill. What’s your problem?”
I heave a sigh. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?” I like Peter, but I’m not sure I want to share all my lady problems with him. Not after his cornhole lesson was somewhat effective at keeping thoughts of Tina from my mind. “Okay, fine. Here goes.”
I spend some time detailing my reasons for moving back to Tuft Swallow, my history with dating, and finally, without getting into specifics, what happened with Tina last night and earlier today. He nods and makes noises in appropriate places, barely raising an eyebrow when I tell him I forgot to change the lightbulb so the entrance to Tina’s apartment is still dark. Whenit’s clear that I’ve stopped, Peter slaps his hands on his thighs and stands.
“Well. There’s your answer.”
My eyes betray my puzzlement. “What’s my answer?”
“You need to convince that girl to give you a chance.”
My heart swells inside my rib cage. What I wouldn’t give for that to be possible. I shake my head and look at Peter. “She was pretty clear when she said that she doesn’t date.”
He rolls his eyes before shooting me a meaningful look. “And is that all you want? Todateher?”
