Page 35 of Death is My BFF
“Hold on, I don’tpityyou, Faith,” he said in an earnest voice. “I’m just trying to get to know you—”
“I want to know more aboutyoufirst.”
David opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself, but held his tongue. “Fair enough. I guess I figured you knew everything about me from the media. Down to the supposed freckle on my right ass cheek, if you readCosmopolitan’s latest article.”
He had my full attention. “They didnotwrite a whole article about a freckle on your butt?”
“That’s the thing, it wasn’t my ass. During a trip to Aruba, paparazzi snapped a photo of me on the balcony of my hotel and photoshopped another person’s ass and legs over my bathing suit.
To make it seem like I got work done.” He snickered. “Submitted a photo of my actual ass to show my real one is fine just the way it is, butCosmoignored it. So now I’m being ass-shamed under totally false pretenses.”
I peered around him. “Dumpy iscertainlyfine just the way it is . . . ”
“Dumpy?” David realized I was checking him out and jumped, covering his jean-clad bottom with both hands.“Hey!”
I burst into laughter, borderline cackling at his reaction. David watched me try to compose myself with his mouth quirked up. “I’m in trouble.”
“Why’s that?”
“I really like your laugh.”
Heat swiftly dispersed throughout my face.
“Did Miss Competitive bring her A-game?” he asked, nodding to the game booths lined beside us. “Because I’m not leaving here without winning a giant stuffed animal from one of these vendors.
I’m not messing around.”
I cracked a smile. “I always bring my A-game. Just don’t challenge me to Frog Bog because you’ll lose miserably.”
He leaned into me. “You don’t understand. Ihaveto play Frog Bog, it’s the only reason I came here.”
“A-ha!” I said and pointed accusingly at his chest. “Now the long drive makes perfect sense. You’re a fellow Bogger addict trying to get his fix!”
“Something about smashing a hammer into that little platform and catapulting rubber frogs onto lily pads brings out the inner sadistic child in me. If I start battle crying or pull my shirt up over my head, do me a favor and just walk away.”
At Frog Bog, the various dramatic stances David attempted to get the frogs in the lily pads had me in actual tears. He’d restrained his reactions to winning until the very end, when he’d finally accumulated enough points to win the largest prize.
David punched his fist in the air and gunned his muscular arm into his side with a bellowing, “Boo-ya! That’s the money shot, baby!”
He then proceeded to yank his shirt up over his head like a soccer player and sprint around the area, blessing my regular townspeople with glorious washboard abs.
And no, I didn’t walk away.
After the heated events at Frog Bog, we decided to cool down with a classic game of Gone Fishing. A private smile tugged at my mouth at the sight of David crouching down to help guide a little girl’s fishing pole toward a magnetic duck, and I could feel myself dangerously warming up to this man.
Basketball was next. David executed swishes like he was a power forward in the NBA. My skills took over once we threw darts at balloons. I was in the zone, winning David a goofy pair of blue sunglasses and a mini stuffed toy while he stepped away to take a work call.
Soon, it was night. We wandered to the arcade to play Skee-Ball.
A bet was placed. Loser with the lowest score had to get a surprise temporary airbrushed tattoo of the winner’s choice. I beat him by a hair with the nagging feeling he’d let me win.
“Any good at Disco Rebel?” David asked, as we strolled to the back of the arcade. He shook his jean pocket, jingling a few tokens.
“Oh, please, no. I’m a terrible dancer.” Now that was a total lie.
“No kidding?” He flicked the mini toy pinwheel I’d won at darts so that it fanned my face. “Now wehaveto play.”
Marcy and I were Disco Rebel queens. We’d beaten all the game packs on my game console at home. Needless to say, David was screwed. He crouched to put our tokens in and then stood beside me as the two large television screens lit up.