Page 30 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Good try,” she says.

I smile despite myself. “Thank you.”

Behind me, Mary laughs. “Yeah, good try, Dannica.”

“Woohoo. You’ll have the next one in the bag,” Shelly adds, with the kind of unwavering confidence that suggests she has never witnessed me attempt anything athletic before. She’s a good actor.

I glance between them. “I feel like you’re both lying to me.”

“Supportively,” Shelly says.

“Strategically,” Quadri adds.

That tracks.

“All right, here I go.” I jog lightly from foot to foot like I’m about to step into a ring with the number one boxing champion of… hell, I don’t know. Honestly, I have no idea. Sports aren’t my thing.

I crouch again, tongue poking out in concentration because apparently that’s who I am as a person now, and toss.

The ring veers off course and smacks straight into a clown’s dog-shaped balloon, popping it with a sharp bang.

“Well,” I say slowly. “That felt targeted.”

“Bet you couldn’t do that twice,” Quadri murmurs.

“Not if I was tied to a post and set on fire for missing,” I shoot back.

She laughs, clearly delighted by this turn of events. “Okay, new strategy. Raise the stakes. Pretend you’re tied to a burning post and the only way to save yourself is to land that ring and release the giant bucket of water hanging over your head.”

“Jesus, Quadri, that’s dark,” Shelly says around a bite of her candy apple.

“She started it.” Quadri shrugs. “I’m just building on her plotline.”

“Okay,” I say, rolling my shoulders like I’ve suddenly developed a pre-game ritual. “I’m done messing around. This is the one.”

I crack my neck, immediately regret it, and force myself to focus. Being hypothetically set on fire isn’t helping my aim, so I narrow my eyes instead, blocking everything else out.

I am a Viking, and this is my axe. I can do this.

“Okay, no, that was rigged,” I say as my third ring bounces uselessly off a bottle that absolutely moved.

“It didn’t move,” Quadri says.

“It leaned.”

“It’s a bottle, Chester.”

“It leaned with intent.”

Shelly snorts and tosses hers, landing it on the first try.

“I hate you,” I tell her.

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Same thing.”