36. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Tatum

Devon shoves me aside with a harsh bump of her hip. I nearly knock over the guy beside us, who is playing an intense game of Galaga. It’s loud in here. A bar-arcade is not my typical way to enjoy a Friday night, but it’s what Devon wanted to do, so it’s what we did.

Devon and I have spent every day together since returning from Myrtle Beach, and I’ve enjoyed every moment.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” she says.

She puts the tokens into the machine and grips the joy stick. I watch in awe at how seriously she’s taking these games. This isn’t something I knew about her. Dane and I weren’t big into video games, and neither was Devon.

“When did your fascination with old-as-shit video games start?” I ask.

She scoffs. “Jaws is nothing to turn your nose up at, Tatum.”

She taps the button to shoot little beams at the shark as she navigates her scuba guy around the screen, so she doesn’t get “bit. ”

Her head falls back on her shoulders, and she groans when she loses.

“Why are you mad? You nearly tripled my score.” I gesture to her score on the screen.

“Because I can do so much better than this!”

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek, putting my hands on her shoulders. “It’s just a game.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m going to kick your ass in racing.”

I bark out a laugh, and smoothly say, “Oh, baby. Keep dreaming.”

She gasps dramatically, then grabs my wrist and pulls me to the other end of the bar where the racing game is. There are people playing it right now, and she nearly growls. I huff out a laugh.

“You’re going feral,” I say. She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you want a drink while we wait?”

Devon watches the screen, trying to figure out how long they have left. “Yeah, sure.”

“Be right back.” I give her another kiss on the cheek, this one lingering long enough that I feel her smile.

The bar isn’t far off, but it is busy. I squeeze my way in and order Devon a Strawberry Blond and get myself Dragonmead. Each time we’ve gone to the bar, we’ve chosen a different drink on tap to try. She first tried some pineapple thing which she liked, then went with a pumpkin one that she wasn’t into. I liked the Zombie Ice and Old Rasputin that I got previously, but I’m not as picky as she is .

My card is already on file with them, so when I get our drinks, I move through the crowd and back to Devon, who is waiting not so impatiently by the racing game.

“They’re taking forever,” she whispers harshly to me, taking her drink.

I hide my smile behind my glass and take a sip.

“Oh, is that one good?” she asks, gesturing to my cup.

“You won’t like it.”

“Let me try.”

I hand her the glass and she takes a big sip, her face puckering up.

“Told you.” I take my glass back.

She forces a swallow, sticking her tongue out to show her distaste.

“Yuck.”

“Next time, listen to me.”

A loud whoop of excitement comes from beside us as the winner of the race celebrates. He raises his arms in the air, laughing as his friend gives him the middle finger. Devon is bouncing on her feet as she waits for them to vacate the seats. They’re barely out of them before she’s getting in, tapping on the other one for me to sit. We put our drinks down on the small tables beside us and Devon puts the tokens in the machine.

When we came here, I told her I hadn’t played video games since middle school, and that’s true. But I drive all the time—fast. And though real life differs from video games, I’m pretty sure this will be the game I’ll whip her ass in, and the best part is she isn’t even expecting it .

We go through the prompts to pick our cars. Of course, she picks some ugly pink thing, while I go for a classic-looking car in black. Devon can hardly contain her excitement while I’m as calm as ever. She’s always been a ball of energy. It’s always been contagious. She’s the ball of sunshine I used to look forward to. She would brighten my days, no matter how dark they got. Either with a smile, a few words, or a hug. She’s always been able to make me feel good, which is a terrible way to keep me coming back. This feeling when I’m with her? It’s addicting.

My ability to stay calm is one thing that makes me a good businessman. I don’t allow my emotions to get the better of me. I can think clearly in stressful situations. Devon runs on impulse. I’m planned and organized. She’s chaotic on the best of days. Yet it’s a contained chaos. She isn’t running wild and causing havoc. She’s just having fun.

“You’re going down, Tate.”

My chest tightens as I expect her to call me Tato. Why I expect it now, I’m not sure. Maybe because her mood is so light. It was something she called me when we were kids and I always let her get away with it because she was special. Now, even when people use the word referring to the food, I get weird. So, it’s shocking when disappointment falls over me at her calling me Tate instead. Not that I can blame her for not using the name after I choked her the last time she said it. I don’t regret that, and she didn’t seem to hate it. Could’ve sworn she was turned on, actually.

I don’t respond to her threat. I’ll let her keep thinking she’s going to own me in this, and then laugh when she doesn’t. And when she’s upset, I’ll make her better .

The screen pans around the cars, settling behind them and focusing in on each of our cars. I change my view so it looks like I’m in a car, while Devon keeps hers from behind the car.

“Have you ever driven a real car, Kensington?” I ask, teasing her.

I know she has a car, and I know she uses it—just not often.

“Of course, Winters .”

She knows I hate that name too, but I let her get away with it. Besides, I left myself open for that.

The countdown starts on the screen, and when it’s time to go, I go. From the corner of my eye, I see the determination on Devon’s face. She’s taking this so seriously, it’s laughable. Who knew she was so competitive?

We’re neck in neck for some time, until she tries to take a turn too fast and spins out. I hide my smirk as she squeals in annoyance, fixing herself and doing everything she can to catch up.

The first lap is done. I’m in second place. She’s in fifth. Her quiet mutters of annoyance are entertaining. When the race is done, I finish in second and she finishes in fourth.

I expect her to demand a retry. Scream that it was rigged. Or I cheated. But when I look at her, she’s giving me puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip that has me laughing so hard I can’t get up.

When I finally get out of my seat, taking my beer with me, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head.

“It was a good try,” I say.

“Thanks,” she grumbles.

“You can’t be good at everything, Devon. ”

“Yeah, yeah…” She walks ahead of me, her eyes homing in on a Metallica pinball machine by the front door. Glancing over her shoulder she adds, “I’m going to beat you in this at least.”

And she’s probably right. Because I suck at pinball and that’s fine with me.