“Hey, do you wanna play a game?” I point to a booth called “Balloon-Balooza” where you throw darts at balloons. There are dozens of giant, stuffed animals hanging from hooks in the booth’s ceiling as prizes. “That stuffed dolphin is adorable.”
Brendan raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were hungry.”
“We can do both.” I take another bite of corn dog. “And there’s no line at the balloon booth. Besides, a dolphin is basically my spirit animal.”
He watches me eat. “You always liked looking for dolphins.”
The memory of us sitting on the beach with our feet in the water feels like ages ago—me, insisting we’d see a dolphin if we just waited long enough, Brendan complaining about how long it was taking, but staying anyway.
“What do you say?” I nudge him with my elbow, putting down the food. “Think you and I can win a dolphin today?”
He smirks. “I think you’d never forgive me if we didn’t try.”
“Okay,” the carnival worker says in that bored voice of someone who’s already said this thousands of times today. “You get ten darts each. You’ll earn a hundred tickets if you hit eight out of ten balloons.”
I point at the dolphin hanging from the ceiling. “How many tickets to win that?”
“Three hundred.”
I do the math. “So you’re saying we have to get eight out of ten onthreegames?”
“Or however many games it takes to get to three hundred.”
Brendan rolls his eyes. “This is such a scam. Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nod. “I want that dolphin, no matter how many stupid tries it takes.”
The carnival worker lines up the darts in front of us, and I go first.
My first two darts miss wildly, sailing past the balloons like I’m trying to hit targets in the next county. My third dart hits a balloon and pops it, but the fourth misses again.
I bite my lip. I only have six darts left now. “At this rate, I’ll only win a consolation sticker.”
His gaze trails over the way I’m standing. “Haven’t you played darts before?”
“Not much.” I put down my dart. “Why? Are you judging my technique?”
“It looks like you’re facing off for a duel, instead of a dartboard.” His mouth curves a little. “Do you mind if I show you?”
“Be my guest.” I step out of the way.
He picks up a dart and puts one foot forward, facing the target at a forty-five-degree angle, his bicep flexing as he aligns his arm toward it. And then with one fluid motion, he nails the balloon.
“Wow. That was impressive.” I try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. He looks good, no matter what he’s doing. “Where did you learn that?”
“Back when I was in the military, we used to go to this bar on Friday nights that had dartboards. We’d play every week.”
“Oh, so you were trying to pick up women with your dartboard action?” I smirk. “I’ve heard that works well.”
“Ha, no.” He shakes his head. “I was trying toavoidwomen.”
“Really?” I haven’t heard much about Brendan’s military days. Or his dating life since high school.
“The easiest way to avoid getting hit on was to play darts. Women would walk by and try to get our attention, but the guys I played with were too competitive. If we took our focus off the dartboard,we wouldn’t win.”
I study him, this version of Brendan I’m still learning. “I bet you won a lot of games. You’re very focused.”
He shrugs. “A few.”