“I do not want a giant bear,” she says, and rolls her eyes. “Where would I put a giant bear? Why would I want a giant bear?”
“Babe, I can get you a giant bear,” I say, and I’m grinning because at last, I get to give her shit about something. “You only had to say the word.”
“What about me says please, win me a cheesy giant stuffed animal?”
“Besides the fact that you very obviously want a giant fucking bear as a prize to take home?”
“I do not,” she says. “Besides, there’s no way you can actually get me one, these games are—oh come on.”
I’m already pulling her the way we came, back to the flashing lights of the midway. Of course I can win her a bear from one of these terrible games. If she wants I’ll win her every damn bear from every damn game until we can’t fit them all in the back of my truck.
“Which one you want, babe?” I ask, gesturing at all the games. “You want that giraffe? The frog with a top hat? Maybe that giant Mr. Peanut, seems like he could keep you warm at night.”
“I’m sorry I implied that you might lose a rigged game,” she says.
“I kinda like that shark,” I say, pointing across the way.
“The whole point is that they’re impossible to win.”
“How about that gorilla with a gold chain?”
“Silas.”
“There’s a Pikachu over there that looks pretty good. You like Pikachu?”
She ducks a little closer to me, her bare shoulder touching my bare arm, as she looks between two other game stalls.
“That’s Jigglypuff.”
“That the one you want me to win you?”
We’ve come to a stop between two stands, both blindingly-bright and loud, looking at the tent beyond.
“No,” she says, like she’s trying her best to sound reasonable, but then she stops. Glances over at the Jigglypuff, then back at me, and I can’t help the grin that takes over my face.
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
She doesn’t sound sure.
“You can admit you want a Jigglypuff,” I tell her. “I don’t judge.”
Kat closes her eyes and sighs.
“Fine,” she says, as if I’m about to drag her to her doom. “I want the Jigglypuff.”
“Was that so hard?” I ask, and we move toward the game stall. It’s one of those games where you’ve gotta toss a ball into a basket, and even though I’m well aware that these things are rigged, they can’t be that rigged.
“Wait,” she says, and grabs my forearm with her other hand, and even though it was a hot day and now it’s a hot night, her fingers are cool. I flex my forearm against them, because I can’t help it. “Do you have your phone?”
I pull it from my pocket and hand it to her. She looks around again, like she thinks we’re being followed, then pulls me into the shadows between two stalls, already Googling something.
I slide a hand around her waist, my thumb on the seam of her sundress, the fabric soft and pliable, and I force myself not to twist the folds between my fingers. Kat stiffens for an instant, then relaxes.
“Since these are all rigged,” she says, scrolling. “You may as well know the tricks.”
“Sneaky,” I tease, and she snorts.