I can do this. Whatever else this is with Penn, it could just be fun.
“So,” I singsong, trailing a hand through the water’s surface, careful not to disturb the bubbles too much. Penn watches me, transfixed, as I ask, “What are you in the mood for?”
His hand slips off the counter and he nearly falls, catching himself at the last second. “Wh-what?”
“For dinner,” I clarify.
Penn’s head drops on a faint, breathless laugh, his cheeks pink when he glances up at me again. “Right.”
It’s delicious, seeing him so undone. “You okay there?” I tease.
“All good,” he insists. “I just got…distracted.”
“Oh. You find this distracting?”
Penn lets his attention drift over the bubbles, over my bare face and the hair piled on my head, over every inch of me he can see, unwilling to back down. But then his stare gets heavy. The air pulls taut, and his voice is so low, I barely hear him when he says, “A little.”
My turn to smirk.
Penn mirrors it. He cocks his head, his tongue at the edge of his grin. “Why’d you invite me in here, Wynne?”
“Dinner. What do you—”
“Change of plans,” Penn says, cutting in. “I have another idea.”
“You? An idea? Dangerous.”
He nods. “Sometimes.”
I swallow, and I worry he can hear it. It’s too quiet. Every sound echoes: the gently rippling bathwater, Penn’s breath, my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I dig my nails into my leg.
“Laser Tag,” he says finally.
I pause, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “What?”
“Let’s play a round of Laser Tag. Loser cooks dinner. Are you in?”
Jesus Christ.
All the tension evaporates into the aggressively floral-scented air. I exhale, my head falling back against the bath while bubbles spill over the sides. “Are you serious? Laser Tag?”
“What?” Penn asks, feigning innocence. “Scared you’ll lose?”
I sit up again, narrowing my eyes at him. “No. I’m in.” After a beat, I add, “Put it on the calendar.”
“Will do. But you’ll have to wear clothes,” he says. “I don’t want any more distractions.” His eyes flash with something mischievous, and I roll my shoulders back in response.
“Good luck, Pennjamin,” I say primly. “You’ll need it.”
He darts me one last look before he leaves, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, my phone dings with another notification: a calendar invitation readingInaugural Penby Duel.
—
Everything is paintedblack: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Black lights glow overhead, and neon tape lines the mazelike foam barriers set throughout the basement storage room, which must reach at least thirty feet across in both directions. Rock music plays through the speakers because I warned Penn I’d waltz right out of here if he insisted on blasting house music. He’s lucky I allowed for the janky fog machine.
Just inside the door, there’s a makeshift changing area where glowing gear hangs from hooks set along the wall. Penn stands there, waiting, wearing a flashing light-up vest over his T-shirt.
The blaster gun in his hand drops to his side as he levels me with a disapproving look. “Wow. Okay. You’re playing dirty, huh?”
