Fun

Frankie

Oscar stops at a distance behind me, which I deserve. I wasn’t quite sure how to handle that surprise encounter, and I don’t think my choice was the right one.

I reach out for his hand, but he doesn’t reciprocate. My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “It’s fine.”

“He asked me out,” I blurt, “and I told him I was too busy to date. It felt weird being here… on a date. Like he’d know I lied.”

“Did you lie?” Oscar asks, finally looking at me.

“Yes.” I close my eyes for a second to break our eye contact. When I open them, Oscar’s focus hasn’t shifted. “I was busy, but the real reason I said no was because I wasn’t interested in him. There was someone else I had stuck in my head all the time.”

He continues to stare at me, not reacting to that statement.

Clearly, I need to bare my soul here. “A certain blond neighbour who drove me absolutely mad and hated my dog.”

His eyes brighten under the colourful arcade lights. “How long ago was this?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and answer, “October.”

Finally, he steps closer. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“You hated me,” I answer with complete confidence.

He reaches a hand up and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “I never hated you, Frankie.” He inches forward, stopping centimetres away. “If I ever hated you, I wouldn’t have been so jealous when you were talking to that guy.”

Hearing him admit I’m not the only one who is struggling with feeling jealous emboldens me further. “If it makes you feel any better, I had the same problem at the gym.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You were jealous of the soccer moms?”

“I was jealous you were touching them,” I admit, hoping it will have the right result.

It does.

His face transforms into a scheming grin as he places his opposite hand on the small of my back and pulls me against him. “I was coaching them, Frankie. Trust me; I only want to touch you.”

Every drop of oxygen vacates my lungs. I bite my bottom lip while looking up at Oscar’s. The noise and chaos around us fade into nothing, and the only thing stimulating any of my senses is Oscar.

Finally, after weeks—months—of anticipation and countless times being interrupted, Oscar presses his lips to mine. He’s slow at first. Tender. Not nearly as greedy as I feel. Kissing him is every bit as amazing as I expected it to be. He responds to my desperation after a few seconds, but quickly pulls his head away.

“This is a family restaurant,” he says with a breathy chuckle.

My cheeks burn when I turn my head to the left and see a horrified mother staring at us. I offer a pathetic smile before grabbing Oscar’s hand and dragging him to the wide hallway between the bar and the arcade. I stop with my back against the wall.

Oscar places one hand on either side of me and leans forward. “I’m not known for being patient, but that was worth the wait.”

I’ve already confessed too much, so I’m not about to tell him that’s the only kiss I’ve had since a pathetic slobbery exchange with Callum that had me questioning my life’s choices. He didn’t set the bar high, but Oscar well and truly exceeded expectations.

For that reason, my only acknowledgement of his words is grabbing the collar of his black tee and pulling him toward me. I won’t tell him that kissing him has unlocked a new top on my pleasure list—way above red velvet cupcakes—but I will show him.

His reaction time is impressive. His palm rests on my cheek, creating another point of contact that still doesn’t feel like enough. It would be so easy to get lost in him, but he pulls away far too soon, sporting a cheeky grin. “Family restaurant.”

“Right,” I reply, looking toward the arcade to mask my disappointment. I’m relieved we haven’t drawn the attention of any more mothers. “So, which game do you want me to beat you at first?”

Oscar laughs. “You’ve never been to an arcade before.”

“Beginner’s luck?” I shrug, grab his hand, and walk back into the flurry of activity surrounding the various games.

A small boy, who is maybe nine or ten, starts whooping in front of the basketball game and shouts at his dad, “In your face!”

His dejected father’s expression changes quickly into a smile as he gives his son a high five.

Oscar halts beside me.

I glance at the boy and his father, then at Oscar. “I hope you’ll be such a good sport when I beat you.”

He responds with a one-sided smile. “Just made me realize I haven’t talked to my dad for a while.”

We continue our walk until he stops in front of a Skee-Ball machine, gesturing at it.

“Sure. Looks like a good one to test my beginner’s luck.” I smirk at Oscar, taking up my spot at the base of the game. “What does he do?”

“Hm? Who?”

“Your dad.”

“Oh. He works in the town office. That’s why I chose urban planning as my major.”

My first ball rolls up the ramp, veers to the far left, and drops into the ten spot. I try to distract Oscar from my failure by asking, “So, you want to work with your dad?”

“No,” he says with a brief laugh. He steps behind me, wrapping one arm around my waist and taking my right hand in his. “Like this.”

Just like when he taught me a push kick, I’m putty in his hands. I lean into him and allow his hand to guide mine. Sure enough, the ball rolls up and drops into the hole for thirty points. It’s a slight improvement, but I still have my eye on the hundred points in either corner.

“Better,” he breathes into my ear.

“Are you trying to sabotage me?”

“If we were playing for something, maybe.”

I’m not a betting person, but even if I was, there’s nothing I want to play for. Anything with Oscar is a win.

With a final score of 180, I feel less than confident as Oscar takes aim in his lane.

Distraction is my only shot now. “So you don’t want to work with your dad?”

“No.” He sticks his tongue between his teeth so it pokes out the side of his mouth as he shoots a ball into the forty slot. “Not with him. Just in a small town somewhere.”

“Why a small town?” I ask, leaning against the partial wall sectioning off the Skee-Ball area.

“The city isn’t really my thing, I guess.” He rolls another ball up, so it drops into the thirty target. “I want to help develop smaller towns that need better infrastructure without having to compromise their green space. Somewhere convenience, nature, and wildlife can all co-exist.”

I wonder if this guy will ever stop surprising me. Since our first interaction, he’s continued to prove my first assumptions wrong. Each thing I get to know about him makes me like him even more. And I’m already in heartbreak territory if things go south.

“It’s lame, I know. But my dad has worked as the CFO for seventeen years. He used to bring me into work with him, and I just remember being fascinated by everything that goes into running a town. There are always new challenges and moving parts. It feels like somewhere I could make a difference.” Now, he’s abandoned throwing any balls to focus solely on me. “Once I decided that’s what I wanted to do, there was no changing my mind.”

“So you’re saying you’re stubborn.” I inch toward him; more because I’m drawn to him than hoping his game will end with a measly seventy points.

“I’m saying”—he gently grabs my arm and pulls me forward, making me collapse into his chest—“when I find something interesting, not even a vicious pit bull can chase me away.”

I take a hard swallow, unable to look away from Oscar’s intense green eyes.

Before he can lean in any closer, the arcade game starts dinging and flashing, displaying his second-place score.

A victorious smile spreads across my lips. “In your face!”

Like a good sport, Oscar lifts his hand up to offer a high five.

I slap his hand in midair before I grab it to continue my epic defeat of the guy who’s good at everything.

Hours pass while we spend time deep-sea fishing, motorcycle racing, flying fighter jets, and playing air hockey—which I’m convinced was rigged. I haven’t smiled this wide or laughed this much for years. Don’t get me wrong; I love Brad and he brings me a lot of joy, but it’s been a long time since I was just able to let loose and have fun. It’s little to do with the arcade and much to do with the company.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asks after we finish our final game, solidifying my victory.

I don’t want this night to be over, but I have to be at the clinic in a little over eight hours. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave before this gets really embarrassing.”

He grabs my hand as we march toward the door. I follow his eyes over to the bar, where I spot Whit and his sister seated, facing away from us.

As we step through the door, he says, “You may have shot down my jet, but I still feel like the winner tonight.”