For The Love Of The Game

Start New Game ++

"I don't like getting home too late, in case my brothers need me." She glanced down at her phone and stood so fast, the drinks on the table clattered.

"Have they texted you that they are in dire need?"

"Nooo bu.."

"No buts, come on, stay a little longer. I promise I will have you home by twelve at the latest." I patted her side of the table for emphasis. "Gentleman's honor."

Riley's gaze wandered from her phone to the chair. A battle of wills played out on her face. But I was not ready to part with her. Although her face was not swollen from tears any more, her shoulders were still tense, and sadness lingered in her eyes. It felt wrong to let her go like that. So when a crack appeared on her resolve, I struck.

"Look, I'll set an alarm. I promise we won't get home late." I pulled out my phone and showed her the newly set alarm.

"Eleven," she bargained.

I smirked, happy she decided to join me. "Deal."

Riley sat down and I raised my glass. We toasted to our individual miseries. One drink became two. Two became three. Until eventually, we lost count. Her cheeks gained a permanent rosy look.

I was sure I looked like a smirking fool.

Grrww. Riley's stomach rumbled in protest, halting our conversation. She snickered, and I could imagine a cartoonish sweat drop running down her forehead as she held her stomach.

"You know what?" I leaned forwards. My face, inches from hers. "I'm hungry, too. Let's go find something to eat."

"YASSS!" She squealed, both hands pumped into the air like she won the lottery.

The low background chatter of the bar deafen at the sudden scream. All eyes zeroed in on the source. Riley smiled shyly at me, averting her gaze from all the wandering stares. Yet, she laughed, without a care in the world, enjoying her own antics.

"What are we waiting for?" I extended my hand and her soft fingers slipped right in. Her palm was so petite compared to mine but rougher. I led her out of the bar, and my heart started beating, excited at the possibilities of the night.

Once outside, she pulled her hand out of mine and wrapped it around herself.

"So what would you like to eat?" I asked her.

Her nose sniffed the air as she surveyed the street, seeking inspiration. "I know! Let's get some froyo." She pointed across the street.

My eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think froyo counts as a substantial meal."

"Look here." Her index finger jabbed my chest. "Mr. Noah whatever-your-last-name-is, you said you wanted to learn my ways." She squared her shoulders and proclaimed to the world. "This is my way."

"Last name is Klaine, if you are so interested." I soothed my chest where she poked me. I was right. Rough hands, I'll have to take note of that. My eyes cast down at her skeptically and confirmed, "To eat frozen yogurt as a meal replacement?"

"Yes." Her tone left no room for arguments.

So, I didn't argue. "You're right. If froyo is what you want, then froyo we shall have."

At my declaration, she hopped across the street, like a bunny hunting down the most orangy carrot.

Wind chimes rang as we entered the shop.

"Welcome to the Fruitilicious Froyo Shop," greeted a colorfully dressed teenager with a rainbow helicopter hat — his eyes as lively as a zombie. To his right, the pink walls extended into a display of dozens of frozen yogurt toppings.