"Yeah," Duncan says with a laugh. "I like to sometimes get away, and it's fun. Not at all like when I was growing up, you know?"
"Not really," I say honestly, taking his hand. "But I'd like to find out. Where do we start?"
We start with the arcade, where I find out that Duncan is actually a crack shot, at least with a light pistol. His hands move amazingly fast as he shoots down horde after horde of zombies, his eyes flickering side to side. "How'd you get so good at this?" I ask after my forearm cramps up and he's still firing away. "Jesus, watch out!"
A super-zombie, one of those types that are put in these games expressly to make you eat up your tokens, pops out of nowhere and hits us both, ending the game. I'm tempted to drop another token in to continue, but Duncan holsters his pistol and takes my hand. “I learned to shoot when I was a kid. My Dad felt that it was important I learn supposedly 'manly' habits like that, and not end up, and I quote, one of these Silicon Valley, pansy ass, sissy boys."
"Yeesh, what a moron," I exclaim before blushing. "Sorry. Guess that's not something you say about your date's parents."
"Except that it's totally true. Come on. I may have only played half a game, but I'm starving. Let's eat."
We get an extra large pizza with sausage, bacon, and bell peppers, along with Cokes, and find a seat. Just as we do, I hear someone call out Duncan's name again. "What is it with us and food and getting interrupted?"
"I don't know," Duncan says with a laugh. We look over, and I see a guy wearing a frat shirt, Alpha Tau Epsilon, along with what you'd expect a frat guy's girlfriend to be on his arm. "Hello, Joe."
“Good to see you," Joe says, pulling his Barbie-doll date along with him. "Man, after that game . . . you’re the last person I expected to see. What happened?"
"Just had a bad day," Duncan says, and I can tell he's not wanting to talk about it. Joe, however, doesn't catch his tone of voice and plows ahead. I've known it for years, but intelligence and the Greek system do not always go hand in hand.
"Seriously, like, you were going Captain Caveman out there. Missy and I were fuckin' stoked to see you here though. Hope, you know . . ."
"No worries," Duncan says. "By the way, this is my date, Carrie Mittel. Carrie, this is Joe and Missy."
"Uh . . . hi," Missy says, surprised as I offer my hand. She shakes before pulling back with an over-the-top shake of her wrist. “Geez, that’s a strong grip.”
"Carrie's strong," Duncan says, giving Missy a measured look. "She's a great trainer, and one hell of a girlfriend."
I'm too stunned to catch her reply as my mind whirls around Duncan's words. Girlfriend? Did he just really call me his girlfriend? Somebody pinch me, please.
Joe and Missy soon leave, and Duncan turns back, shaking his head. He sees that I'm still staring at him, open-mouthed, and blushes. "Sorry. I swear, that shit doesn’t happen everywhere I go.”
“It’s not that,” I say. "Just . . . you just called me your girlfriend."
"I know," Duncan says, smiling, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking a bite. He chews slowly, considering his next words as if he’s wondering if he should keep up the cockiness. “For four months now, since the day we met, I haven't been the same. I spend my days hoping to get down to the training room faster and to the library after practice in order to spend time with you. I may have jumped the gun to put that prissy princess in her place, but I still meant what I said.”
I nod, a silly grin breaking out on my face, and I take my own slice of pizza. “I think I could get used to being Duncan Hart’s girlfriend.”
A smile breaks out on his face, and we finish our pizza in a warm haze of dreamy happiness. When we're finished, I'm already ready to ask Duncan to take me back to his place, but instead, he clears away our plates and holds out his hand. "Have a round with me?"
"Careful," I tease, getting up. "Remember, I'm a former softball player. I tend to do well with sports with sticks and balls."
"Then maybe I'll get put in my place," Duncan chuckles, the two of us going out to the course.
I've never seen miniature golf as an exercise in seduction, but then again, I've never played a round with Duncan Hart before. We don't even keep score, just having fun with each other and playing the holes. With each stroke, I'm finding myself laughing and exchanging looks with him, the rest of the patrons or people forgotten as it seems the two of us are sharing our own little private space. When we come to the eighteenth hole, I move in to the ball, and I feel Duncan behind me. "Looks like a difficult shot."