“That so?” I say with a smirk. She doesn’t give me a second glance, keeping her eyes locked on the target of her affection. “Did you get ink, too?”
She lets out a half laugh, half croak, then quickly shuts her mouth and clears her throat. There is a smile on my face I can’t get rid of and held back laughter that’s gonna crack one of my ribs.
“No,” she says. “I… don’t have any tattoos. I did a henna one once though. My cousin was experimenting with it and she gave me a pokeball. Like from Pokemon. I imagine I caught charmander because he’s the cutest one. It was during all that Pokemon Go hoopla which was super fun, right? I mean everyone played that. Well, not me because I didn’t have a phone yet. My parents were like, ‘don’t you get a phone before you’re sixteen. It’ll rot your brain.’ They were probably right because Amber got a phone when she was twelve and she’s dumb as a rock. Her words, not mine. I wouldn’t say that about anyone, especially my best friend. She did the henna thing with me, too, but she got some fun pattern thing that went down her neck, and I really like your neck tattoo; I’ve seen it in art class. Well, obviously, since you pose shirtless for us. So did you get it in Fort Wayne? Oh no wait, you said you couldn’t find a place. I know how to listen, I swear.”
“Do you know how to breathe?” I ask, my eyebrows sky high. Candace can talk, but I didn’t realize she could talk that much.
The guy chuckles at my joke, and I get a much deserved kick to the shin that he doesn’t see.
“That’s where I know you from.” His eyes drop to her chest briefly. “Candace…” he reads off her nametag. “Good to put a name to the face. How long you been painting?”
Candace opens her mouth, closes it, opens again, makes a croaking noise, then shakes her head hard. Oh this is painful to watch.
“Since you were about five, right?” I say, offering help. Not sure I can take much more of her attempts to flirt, as funny as they are.
“Umherm,” she mumbles, adding a nod. Good, ‘cause I guess whatever noise that was meant yes.
“Cool.” He drops his gaze to his brother crouched by the more expensive knick knacks in the front case. I move over to help the little guy out, give Candace her in without me being witness to it. Maybe that’s why she’s fumbling so hard; she probably knows that no matter how it goes, I’ll make fun of her for it.
“Got your eye on anything else?” I fold my arms on the counter and peer over.
“How much do I have again?”
“Well, after the football, that puts you at three-hundred and ten tickets.” The football was seven-fifty-five—overpriced in my opinion—but he seems happy with it.
“And I can save the rest?”
I nod, reaching for his card. “Just keep a hold of this for your next visit.”
He stands up and takes the purple card from me and puts it in his pocket. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Zach,” he says to his brother. “Let’s do Zombie Killers before they close.”
“You done here?” Zach asks, and Candace’s lips turn down the slightest bit.
“Yeah. Gonna save them.” He pats his pocket where his ticket card is.
“Oh, we’re coming back, huh?”
“You owe me.” His brother juts his hip with some mighty pre-teen sass. Reminds me of my youngest sister… who is just over ten years old.
“All right.” He playfully punches his brother in the arm, then gives Candace a quick glance. “See you in a few weeks. If not sooner.”
“Yes!” she shouts, then clears her throat. “I mean, yeah.” She gives him an awkward smile, which hopefully the guy finds adorable and not off-putting. They head out of the arcade, and she slumps to the floor, her hands over her face.
“Don’t say it,” she says.
“That was sad.”
She glares at me. “I said not to say it.”
“Have you never flirted before?” I shake my head and join her on the floor. “’Cause, damn.”
“I’ve flirted,” she hisses.
“And… it’s worked?”
She growls and buries her face in her hands. “Zach is different from other guys I’ve liked. I feel so lame talking to him.”
“That’s different from anyone else?”
She gives me a quick smack to the shoulder, and I pretend it hurt way more than it did.
“He’s older. More experienced. Rides a motorcycle. Is totally ripped. And his tattoos…”
“You sure we’re not talking about me?” I tilt my head, my grin smug. She shoves me again.
“I’m from a small town in Idaho. I turn in pennies I find on the road. I go to bed at exactly ten-thirty and wake up at exactly seven. I’ve kissed two guys and both of them took me on four or more dates before I let them do that. I’m way too…”
She gestures to herself, unsure of how to finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to, though.
“Hey,” I bump shoulders with her, “you just need to loosen up a bit.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“It’s not hard.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“You got a ride home?” I say without thinking too much about it.
“Yes.”
“You want to cancel it? Hop on my bike, for a change.”
Her eyes narrow, and she gives me a look that clearly says I’m talking crazy.
I snort. “Okay, start simpler, then.”
“Example…?”
“Eat dessert first.”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
“What?” I laugh. “Even that too hard for ya?”
“That sounds like the lamest way to become… less lame.”
“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t want to take a ride on good ol’ Gertrude.”
“You named your bike.”
“Yes.”
“And you named it Gertrude.”
“Just now, yes.”
She snorts, and then chokes, and then turns red, and I’m laughing at her while she gives me a right hook to the shoulder.
“Okay, I’ll start with dessert before dinner.”
“Good.” I push to my feet and put my hand out for her. “I’ll check in on Saturday, so you better do it.” She takes my hand, and I hoist her up. “You want to do closing announcement or should I?”
“It’s still two minutes before.”
I sigh and shake my head. Always a stickler. “Maybe closing early when there is no one in the arcade can be your next thing.” I wave my hand around the empty arcade, then hop over the counter and start shutting it down. Time for easy cleanup and a nice long ride on the bike. Unlike her, I don’t have a bedtime.
Candace
I roll over in my comfy queen bed with 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. My alarm clock says 10:13, and I’m nowhere near sleep. My mind better shut the heck off if I’m going to be asleep by 10:30.
I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling, blowing out a long breath. My fan rotates in the corner, even though it’s the dead of winter. It’s easier to sleep with the white noise and bundle up under a thousand duvets than to hear the endless quiet of my house.