“Keep your wrist up,” he says. “Release at the top of the arc, not the bottom.”
I face the bottles. I keep my wrist up. Round three: two on, one off.
“Dale,” I whine.
Dale raises his eyebrows. “Ma’am?”
“The ring is slightly oval. Is that standard or is that—”
“They’re all the same.”
I take a breath and set my feet. I think about release points and land all three on.
“There it is,” Griffin cheers at my side.
I turn back to Dale with renewed purpose. “Another round.”
A small crowd has gathered by round four. I become aware of it in my periphery. One moment it’s just us, then there are twelve people. I’m on round five of what is apparently a best-of-five situation that Dale didnotmention during the initial briefing.
“Dale,” I say. “You said three consecutive.”
“I said three consecutive wins, and round three was—”
“Round three was a structural anomaly with the bottle placement, and we both know it.”
“Ma’am, the bottles are glued down.”
“Piper.” Griffin steps up beside me. “I’ve got this one.”
I’m about to argue, but he cuts me off. “Do you want the damn penguin or not?”
I huff, but give in.
I really do want that penguin.
He puts four dollars on the counter. I see him doing the internal calculations, the quiet run of numbers.
He throws. Three for three. Clean.
Sweet Jesus. Who knew ring-toss could be attractive?
I grab his arm. “Okay, listen. The left bottle clusters slightly, so aim the first ring at the right side of the formation—”
“I see it.”
“And your release point—”
“Wrist up, I know. I toldyouthat.”
“Well, now I’m telling you.”
He looks at me sideways. The corner of his mouth is doing the thing.
“Do not smile right now,” I tell him. “Focus.”
He faces the booth and throws. Three for three. The crowd erupts.
It’s the last round. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I’m starting to sweat.
