“Why don’t you just buy it?” he asked.
“That’s not the point!” she said, irritated. “I have to win it.” She paused and then admitted, “And plus I’ve spent twenty-five bucks already. If I lose this round, I have to go back to my place for more money.”
“Okay, I’ll buy it for you.”
This produced an icy glare that nearly froze his nuts off. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “You’re a football star. You have a record a mile long. Haven’t you seen the Nike commercials? Just do it.”
He stared at her. “Have you been drinking?”
“Not yet.”
He stared at her some more.
“I know,” she said. “I’m a nut.”
“A bossy nut,” he agreed. “But a beautiful, bossy nut.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hello, I run a bridal empire. Bossiness is a required trait. Throw the damn ball, Tanner. I want the purple unicorn. But you should know I’m still not speaking to you.”
“Fair enough.” He looked at the ugly purple unicorn sitting on the shelf with about fifty other ugly rainbow-colored unicorns but all he really saw was Callie’s expression earlier. The hurt, the vulnerability. She was hiding it now, but it was still there just beneath the surface and he wanted to be the one to make it go away. “I’ve had a few drinks,” he said.
She stared at him and then tried to grab the football back. “Fine, give it to me if you don’t think you can do it.”
“I can do it,” he said. “Of course I can do it.” He really hoped that was true.
“Well, then.” She slapped the football against his chest and stepped back, gesturing impatiently with her hand for him to go ahead.
“I will,” he said, stepping closer. After he apologized. “Listen, about before at the bar—”
“Just the purple unicorn, please,” she said stiffly.
“It’s just that you came in at the tail end of a conversation that—”
“I know,” she said. “Whatever. Forget it.”
He wished he could. “Callie, I’m trying to say I’m sor—”
“Throw the damn ball, Riggs, or give it back.”
He threw the ball.
And missed.
The kid sucked in a breath of shock. “Dude,” he said, sounding hugely disappointed.
Not Callie. She tossed up her hands, muttered something about men not being worth jack shit, and started to walk off.
God damn it. Tanner grabbed her wrist and held tight with one hand while he shoved the other into his pocket, fishing for money. He came out with a five and slapped it on the counter.
“Never mind,” Callie said.
Hell no. “Wait,” he said, and gestured for the kid to bring him the football. When he did, Tanner bounced it in his hands a moment, familiarizing himself with the feel and weight of it after all this time.
“Seriously,” Callie said. “This isn’t necessary—”
He silenced her with a look and threw the ball. If it didn’t make it through the tire, he was going to have to shoot himself.
Luckily, the ball sailed right through.
More than a little relieved, he started to turn to Callie, only to let out an oomph as something crashed into him.
Callie throwing herself at him.
“Thank you!” Cupping his jaw, she brought his face down and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.” She kissed his other cheek. “Now I don’t have to kill the kid who kept selling me tickets.”
“Hey,” the kid said.
“Just kidding,” she told him.
He didn’t look mollified. “I’m closing now.”
“My prize first,” she said.
“Which one?”
Callie didn’t hesitate. She pointed to the purple unicorn with a hideously bright pink mane.
None of the prizes was great but she’d seriously chosen the least attractive of the bunch. “You sure you want that one?” Tanner asked as the kid handed it to her.
“Of course I’m sure.” She hugged it to her chest like it was precious cargo. “Why not this one?”
“Because it’s a purple unicorn?”
She stared down at the stuffed animal as if just realizing it was purple. “When we were in school, I’d come play my entire allowance away trying to win her.” She paused and stroked the neon, eye-blinding pink mane. “I never did.”
Tanner had seen her throw. He wasn’t surprised. He kept that to himself, as he was in enough hot water. “Should’ve gotten one of the football players who paid you to do their homework down here to win it for you,” he said.
“I wasn’t like you,” she said, talking into the unicorn’s plastic eyes. “I wasn’t popular. I didn’t have a lot of friends that I could’ve asked to do this.” She paused and then grimaced. “Okay, I had no friends that could have done this…” She trailed off, looking as though she wished she hadn’t said that.