Page 63 of So I'll Know
I shiver and put in my token, loading up the balls. “The key,” I start with a cocky lilt to my voice, “is using combos and bonuses and cradling the ball when it rolls down instead of wailing on the buttons like a meathead.”
“Are you calling me a meathead?” He pokes my side, which makes me giggle and jump. He gives me an amused look. “Wow, you’re ticklish.”
I sigh in acknowledgment. “It’s a curse.”
It doesn’t take me long to bump past Marcus’s score and continue to rack up points.
“Jesus fuck,” Marcus breathes.
I cackle. “Told you. They made a song about me, you know. It’s called ‘Pinball Wizard.’”
Marcus chuckles, and I miss a ball. “That’s a lie. That song came out in the sixties. Long before you were born.”
“Fine, but if The Who knew about my sweet skills, they’d dedicate it to me.” I whiff the last ball, and the final number flashes on the screen, prompting me for my initials.
“Speaking of sweet skills, while you definitely spanked my score, you still didn’t beat whoever JLH is.”
I try to swallow my laugh as I enter my initials.
Marcus’s mouth drops open. “JLH.” He looks at me skeptically. “You’re kidding, right?You’reJLH?”
I nod. “You’re not the only one who played here every visit. Plus, they have this same machine at the arcade in Brighton, which was my safe place through middle school and high school.”
“Your safe place?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little quieter. “The owner was queer and he didn’t tolerate bullies.”
Marcus’s face falls, but he seems to rally, changing thesubject. He pokes me in the side again, and I swat his finger away. “What’s your middle name?”
“Layne.”
“Jeremy Layne Hart.” He throws an arm over my shoulders as we exit the arcade, and I lean into his warmth. “Has a sexy ring to it.”
I roll my eyes. “Layne was my mom’s maiden name, but I’m sure sexy is what my parents were going for.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Such a sarcastic brat.”
The affectionate gesture catches me off guard, and a lump fills my throat because I’m becoming addicted to Marcus Conner, and I’m surely going to have withdrawals when I’m forced to quit him like a bad habit.
But I’m not going to think about that right now.
Instead, I revel in the feel of Marcus’s arm around me, completely uncaring who sees us or what they may think. We reach the truck, and I reluctantly shrug out of his hold and climb into the passenger side. Marcus gets in and starts the engine, and we make the ten-minute drive back to Cannon Beach.
I flip the radio stations until I settle on a song from The Fray, and Marcus doesn’t complain. He has a weird obsession with nineties grunge rock, from what I can tell. On the way down, his playlist was all Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden, so I suppose The Fray is nineties grunge rock adjacent.
After a minute, his hand falls on my thigh, his pointer finger tapping to the beat. I turn my face to hide my goofy smile.
He’s acting like . . . my boyfriend. It’s fucking weird. But also, I love it.
It’s almost dark by the time we get back to the beach house, and since it’s not raining, we decide to start a bonfire on the beach. We bicker over location but finally settle on which log will be the most comfortable. Then, Marcus hauls a load ofdriftwood from a pile by the stairs and drops it on the sand. He digs a shallow hole and places the kindling in a teepee formation.
“You look like you know what you’re doing,” I say, walking up behind him with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. “So rustic.”
He glances back at me with an easy smile. “One of the few useful skills my dad taught me.”
I frown. “Is your dad homophobic?”
Marcus sits back on his knees. “I think so. He wants me to lead what he thinks is a traditional life.”
