“Eh, I like racing, the street fighter games...” He surveys the selection. “Oh, and Whack-A-Mole. Haven’t seen that in ages.”
“Too funny! Did you know Mag loves to hit things too?” I say, nudging my lover-boy boss in the side.
“Huh?” Mag perks up at the mention of his name. I don’t think he was following the conversation before. “I do?”
I nudge him harder with my elbow and flash him a strained look that says, I’m trying to help. Don’t mess this up.
“Oh, right, Whack-A-Mole. Sure, nothing like clubbing mechanical rodents.”
I smile. “If the two of you want to go play a quick round or two, I’ll wait here and grab you when the food comes.”
Jordan grins. I think it may be the first time I’ve seen the kid smile wider than my thumb.
“How ’bout it? You want to prove you’re not ancient?”
“You’re on, kid,” Mag says, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and shuffling out of the booth.
Jordan pops up and starts for the arcade room.
“Thank you,” Magnus whispers in my ear over his shoulder before following his brother.
I spend the rest of the time sipping soda and trying to spot Mag flailing around after moles from the booth. I can’t quite get a good look, but it’s something I’d pay good money to see—uptight beast-man CEO whacking robo-moles for fun.
When the pizzas come, they’re still gone.
Unable to resist, I head over to the mole game, expecting to find them.
Nope, they’re missing.
I find Mag on the other side of the arcade, throwing baseballs through numbered loops, and doing a pretty good job of hitting his targets. The machine keeps going wild, spitting out tickets.
Wow. So he does have a fun side?
Not only that, he’s amazing. He doesn’t miss one. Jordan holds a bucket full of tickets, and he smiles when he sees me.
“Hey. We’re trying to win you a Pizza Shack Beaver,” Jordan says.
“You are?” I’m confused.
“Yeah, but Mag’s more coordinated, and taller than me. He can get tickets faster.”
“Don’t worry, bud. We’re a team.” Magnus stops throwing balls to give Jordan a high five.
“Okay, team,” I say, feeling a big case of smiles coming on. “The food’s come, so you might want to eat before you worry about the beaver.”
Back at the table, Mag and I reach for the pepperoni at the same time.
Our fingers brush against each other on the pizza stand, and I giggle like a schoolgirl.
He smiles at me with the same magnetic look that leaves my panties in flames every single time. My breath catches in my chest, and yes, God help me, I blush for the millionth time.
What a strange year so far. It feels like I’m destined to live out one of Mom’s goofy novels.
“Can I try a slice of your pizza?” he asks Jordan as soon as he’s cleaned his plate.
“Thought you didn’t like wings on your pizza?” Jordan looks up and snorts, his eyes disbelieving, but not angry.
Mag smiles at him. “I thought I’d see why you’re so obsessed.”
“Whatever, man. Go for it,” Jordan says.20Happy New Year (Magnus)“Here we go, guys!” Armstrong says, pulling up in front of my building.
Christmas music still pipes softly through the car. The man’s a fiend for holiday music, and I know he won’t give it up until late January.
Jordan jumps out ahead of us. I step out and hold the door open for Sabrina.
She makes no effort to move, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I head home? I really have to work tomorrow.”
I hold my hand out for her.
Her fingers tangle up in mine so easily.
“Only if you want to,” I say.
She smiles at me and lets me help her out of the car.
As soon as we’re inside, Jordan goes to the guest room and comes out fifteen minutes later in pajama pants with fluorescent balls painted across them. “About tomorrow...Seth’s mom—he’s my friend that got the milkshake dumped on him for being dumb—usually takes me to school, but I don’t know if she’ll want to drive downtown to pick me up before we go back to Winnetka.”
His face is so serious. I wait for the next line.
Will he suggest he can’t go to school tomorrow? Or does he doubt I’ll get him there in one piece? With winter break over, it’s time for him to return, just like Marissa would’ve wanted.
“And?” I say, bracing for a rumble.
“I can’t miss tomorrow. I have a chemistry test,” he says.
I relax, putting my hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t flinch or jerk away. Maybe, just maybe, his disdain for me is fading.
“I’ll take you to school tomorrow.”
“You?” He raises an eyebrow. “It’s almost an hour away and could be a lot longer in traffic.”
I laugh. “I know. I went to school there, remember?”
“But I thought time was money?” he asks.
“I’ve got plenty of both. I’m not really working while you’re here and we’re waiting on your mom to wake up,” I say.