Page 92 of Cherish my Heart
I raise a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You clearly suck at this.”
“Oh really? Go on, Mr. Bossman. Let’s see what you can do.”
His first dart hits the wall.
I burst out laughing.
He glares at me. “The angle’s off.”
“Sure,” I say, crossing my arms. “Blame the geometry.”
And just like that, the tension breaks. He gets competitive, I get petty, and somehow we end up running around the lot, arguing over who won, who cheated (he totally did), and how he has zero aim.
Then comes the cricket.
He insists on batting first.
I bowl the first ball. He misses.
“OUT!” I scream.
“That was a trial ball!”
“Trial my foot!”
He tries again. Hits it this time. The ball flies over the stall and into the bushes.
“Six!” He grins like a child.
“Lost ball,” I grumble. “Disqualified.”
He’s grinning so wide now, his dimples are showing; I didn’t know he had dimples. And they are so cute.
He walks toward the swing set like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to sit on it. I push him gently at first, then harder. He pretends to be terrified. “You’re going to kill me!”
“You’ve said that three times today. I haven’t even tried once.”
He tries the bicycle next.
Gets on.
Wobbles.
Falls. Dramatically. Arms flailing. Grass stains.
I laugh so hard. I nearly choke. Fall down next to him. Can’t stop giggling.
“Don’t laugh at my pain,” he mumbles, sprawled across the ground like a starfish. “You’re a cruel woman.”
I’m still breathless. “You fell like a sack of potatoes.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a good experience.”
“It is. For me.”
He groans, sitting up. Then he turns to look at me.
