Page 57 of Ghost

“What the hell, Abby? You threw that fucker.”

“I didn’t know we had rules about speed.”

He scowled at me.

“Okay, let me make a few mental notes. No dirty grapes. Nothing over five miles an hour. Alright, I think I’m good for the next one.”

He picked a grape from his bunch and raised it. “Ready?”

I nodded.

“Two to zero,” he said.

He lobbed the grape into the air.

I leaned left, and then right. Despite being certain I was well within the grape’s path, it fell against my upper lip and then ricocheted off the arm of the couch. As it rolled across the floor, Porter laughed.

“Your fat lips get in the way.”

“You like them when they’re wrapped around your dick, Dick.”

“No need to call names.” He checked his watch. “This is just a friendly game.”

“How much time do we have?” I asked.

“Three or four minutes.”

“Is it three or is it four?”

He glanced at his watch. “Three and twenty seconds.”

I pulled a grape from the bunch and flipped it into the air carelessly, and without warning. Using his eight-pack of stomach muscles, Porter did a sit up, catching the grape in mid-flight.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?” I asked.

“I’m sure there’s something,” he said. “It looks like this isn’t it, though.”

“You suck,” I said.

He inspected the grapes, chose a small one, and then raised it. “I picked a little one. Smaller should be easier, right?”

“Throw it, I’ll tell you in a minute.”

“Just open your mouth wide, and don’t move. I’ll throw it right in there.”

I opened my mouth wide enough to throw a cat into it. He tossed the grape with a flick of his wrist. It shot right into my mouth without so much as grazing a tooth, flew right past my tongue, and then got lodged in my windpipe.

My eyes bulged. I tried to cough but couldn’t. I wanted to give the universal signal for I’m choking, help me, but had no idea what it was. After pounding my fist into my chest twice, frantically, Porter must have realized the threat was real.

He leaped from his end of the couch, yanked me to my feet, and spun me halfway around. I felt a surge of pressure against my chest. I coughed and watched the grape shoot from my mouth and then bounce across the living room floor.

“Holy crap,” I gasped. “I almost died.”

“You didn’t even come close,” he said, releasing me from his grasp. “Three to zero. Time’s up. You lost.”

“I can’t go pick that crap up,” I said. “I almost died.”

“You choked on a grape, and it’s over. We had a bet. The loser of this grape toss has to dive to the Chinese place and pick up the food.”