Above Water ✔️

12 - magic touch

It turned out Dallas's idea of 'hanging out' just the two of us was a crowded old-school arcade bar. There were so many people, I thought I'd lose myself, let alone my date.

Not my word. Dallas called it a date as a joke while we received the third degree from Erick and Phoebe as to why we wanted to borrow their car. I stood by idly while Erick kept giving me sideways, suspicious glances and Dallas explained that it was, direct quote, for our date.

Why, oh why, he would call it a date was beyond me.

"Lot of people," I commented over the classic rock playing overhead.

I could see him look at me from the corner of my eye. "Do you want to go somewhere else? It looked cool online."

"No, no, this is fine," I assured, but I kind of hated it. It would be really cool if there were about fifty less sweaties in my proximity, but I could deal with it. "Wanna get drunk?"

He laughed beside me and put his hand on my back again, like he did back at the cantina. "You read my mind."

It was some indie joint that specialized in craft beers, which Dallas and I agreed was too new-age hipster for this type of place. I guessed that was the appeal of it, though. Every where I looked, people were holding Pilsners, pints and mugs full of the muddy colored ales.

"What are the chances that any of these actually taste good?" I asked as I skimmed the draft list.

"Slim," he said with a snort.

We ordered two beers with the funniest names and talked while we waited. It was too loud to try to have any sort of serious conversation, so we kept it light. He would point out a game that looked fun or I would make a joke about someone passing by. We laughed and drank and talked until it was almost two in the morning.

I was feeling pretty sloshed. The beers were gross but we drank them all, trading when the taste got too weird.

Two rounds into playing the basketball tossing game, Dallas spoke. "So are you gonna hang out with the pool guy?"

I glanced over at him and saw his forearm flex as he shot the ball overhand into the basket. "I don't know, I haven't even texted him yet," I said and threw my own ball, but it bounced off the rim. My cheeks were warm and my skin felt fuzzy.

"Do you want to text him?"

"I mean," I cleared my throat, blinking twice to regain my focus on the basketballs, "yeah. He seems nice."

Dallas didn't say anything for a moment, just chucking the balls at the hoop effortlessly. My lips were numb. In the end, he won the second match. I threw my remaining ball at him and he caught it at his chest with a laugh.

We moved on to air hockey. I should mention that Dallas had paid for everything thus far, which felt a little over the top. I stood idly while he entered quarters into the slots on the side. His face lit up blue and red as the machine sprung to life, the air making my disc begin to slide.

I couldn't help but notice under his half-buttoned shirt how defined his shoulders were. That wasn't news to me; I'd seen his shoulders before. But when he was leaning on the edge of the air hockey table and bent slightly to wait for me to slide the puck towards his side, it looked different. I was almost distracted.

Only almost. I was a God at air hockey.

He lost eight to one. I cheered and did a gloating, yet tasteful, celebratory dance. When I stopped, I blushed at Dallas's grin.

"You're such a dork," was all he said.

I followed him over to a crane machine where he was inserting quarters before I even had the chance to express my distaste for the games. "You know these are a scam, right?" I asked and leaned against the machine next to us.