“Four, three.”
He’d never eat cake again. Fuck cake. It was the worst thing in this world. Too sweet. Overrated.
“Two, One.”
Both him and Retta turned to Graham and stuck their tongues out and shouted, “Ah!”
Had they eaten enough? There were still crumbs and icing left over. Would that disqualify them? They couldn’t have gotten this far only to pay ninety bucks for such a torturous experience.
“You can put your tongues away,” Graham said, moving closer to the table. He studied the cake stand for several seconds before looking back at his clipboard. He stroked his chin, mumbled a few things, then looked up at them. “Congratulations, you won.”
Duncan turned to Retta with wide eyes and threw his hands in the air. They laughed and embraced only to immediately recoil when they hit each other’s stomachs. After he was sure he wouldn’t throw up all over the floor, he straightened from where he’d been leaning on a table. He found Retta lying across an empty booth with her eyes closed and cake smudged on her glasses.
Graham returned with more napkins and a pitcher of water. “So, whenever you’re ready, we’ll take a photo and collect your information.”
Duncan cleaned himself up before walking over to a depleted Retta and nudging her foot with his. “You still with me?”
She stretched out her hand. “Help me.”
He pulled her until she was seated upright.
“We’re a hundred dollars richer,” she said.
Once she’d wiped the frosting from her face and hands, they made their way to the wall of fame.
“Folks usually do a fun pose,” Graham said, pointing to the frames with pictures of people jumping in the air, standing on the bar, and riding piggyback.
The two of them shuffled around each other, lifted their arms, and twisted their bodies, trying to find a suitable position.
“Why don’t I dip you?” Duncan asked.
“That’s fine,” she said, eliminating almost all the space between them.
He didn’t breathe as she wrapped both arms around his torso. When he placed his hand on her back, the heat of her skin traveled past the thin blouse she wore. This was the closest they’d ever been.
“Don’t drop me,” she whispered.
Duncan moved her backward and bent into his left leg. “No chance.”
She flinched, but after several seconds of hovering over the floor at an angle, her face broke into a smile.
After the photo had been taken and forms signed, Retta held up their little Dollar Store trophy. “Your glory, sir.”
They each gave the long-suffering waiter a hearty handshake and a tip before returning to their seats for their belongings. The rain had stopped, but he couldn’t be sure when it had happened.
“I don’t think we’ll be catching any busses,” Retta said, holding up her phone to show it was a little past eleven.
When their Uber arrived, they shoved themselves and the human-sized bird plushie into the back seat. It was nearly impossible for them to sit without physical contact. Her leg was practically in his lap, and he had to swing his arm over her headrest to make more room.
He forced himself to watch the lights of the city run together in a kaleidoscopic haze to avoid looking at her. It was the only way he could ignore her weight against his body.
But the strategy was abandoned when Retta turned to him and said, “You smell like cake.”
She was so close. It would take but a slight tilt forward for him to kiss her. “You do too.”
Laughing, she sunk deeper into the seat. “I’m glad this went well.”
“I was nervous there for a second with your sketchy bowling alley,” he said, closing his fist against the sudden desire to play with her hair that tickled his forearm.
