“Ready?” Vienna asked. At Ava’s nod, the game began.
And ended less than ten minutes later. Ava: ten. Vienna: one.
“Holy shit, what the hell was that?” Vienna said, blinking.
“Luck?” Ava said with a wink.
Vienna tossed the mallet to Madison. “You’re next.”
Madison did a little bounce on the balls of her feet, comically preparing, giving herself a pep talk: “Okay, here we go. You got this.You got this.” Then she put her hands on her hips, lifted her chin, and stood there for several seconds without moving.
“Are you Superman now?” Regan asked with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know there are studies,” Madison informed her, still holding her pose. “Standing like this for a few moments before anything important—big meeting, conference call—”
“Air hockey game?” Regan asked.
“Air hockey game, yes. Standing like this helps you build up your confidence and feel better about taking on whatever you have before you.”
That confidence lasted a full seven minutes, until Ava scored her tenth goal and Madison stood blinking in disbelief.
“Um, what just happened?”
“Pretty sure Ava just handed you your ass,” Vienna said. “You can hang it up next to mine.” She raised her voice so Maia and Paige, who were still playing Ping-Pong, could hear. “I think we have a ringer in our midst.”
“Seriously?” Maia asked with a chuckle. “Ava, you been holding out on us? You an air hockey pro? You play on a national team?”
“I do not,” Ava said. “But I may have played quite a bit when I was younger.”
Madison handed her mallet to Regan. “Next lamb for the slaughter. Don’t bother with the Superman pose. Waste of time.”
Ava watched Regan approach her own end of the table. She moved her mallet from side to side, apparently getting a feel for it. Placing her left hand on the corner of the table, seemingly to brace, she finally met Ava’s gaze. “Ready?”
Staying calm was a characteristic of Ava’s. Always had been, because of her childhood. Freaking out and losing her mind over something never got her far. In fact, it only made things worse in her world. So she’d perfected remaining stoic. Unemotional.
That being said, Regan, at the other end of the table, ready to play her, did weird things to her composure. Regan’s blond highlights were picking up all the neon in the place, so she looked almost like she was AI, different colors streaking her hair, bouncing off her smooth skin, seeming almost unreal. Her big blue eyes looked wider than usual, and Ava’s gaze roamed down to her chest. Of course, her brain chose that moment to send her a snapshot image of Regan’s bare breasts, exactlyas she’d seen them that morning. Creamy white skin, pink nipples, a bit larger than she’d expected—a picture that was going to live rent-free in her head.
She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat.
Okay, yeah, enough of that.
“Ready.”
Regan served.
The volley went for a good minute before Ava scored, and she instantly knew Regan was going to be a good match. “You’ve played before.”
“My brother may have taught me.”
Ava nodded and served, and she was going to have to work for this win. She loved a challenge, that was true. That the challenge came from Regan was going to make it even sweeter when she won. She tucked that in her back pocket and forced herself to focus. She bent her knees slightly so she stood lower, making it easier to predict the trajectory of the puck. The red disk flew over the white table, slamming off sidewalls and thwacking off mallets. It seemed like forever before she managed to score again.
Only then did she notice they’d amassed a bit of an audience.
* * *
People were watching them.
Regan hadn’t realized that until the puck had gone flying off the table, and she had to bend to grab it. When she’d stood and glanced up, there were a good six or eight spectators on top of their own fellow pastry chefs—who’d stopped their own Ping-Pong matches to watch.