Loser buys dinner?
Now, the thing about you was that you were a competitive little shit. No matter what it was, if someone you knew did it well, then you were willing to try and outdo them.
The thing about your boyfriend was that he was the same way, just selectively. You discovered this trait the first time he took you to play lazer tag. You hadn’t a fucking clue, other than the brief explanation Dave had provided for you as you geared up. He looked attractive in the armor-- but that’s a story for another time. “Take the gun, aim, and pull the trigger,” He’d told you, “If you hit, the armor lights up and the counter on your gauntlet goes up by one. First to twenty hits wins.” Sounded simple. He’d grinned and added, “Loser buys dinner?” Fair enough.
The field was dark and gigantic, lit with neons that gave everything a blue haze. A maze of barriers and obstacles throughout made for good hiding places.
You learned, and you learned fast.
You and him are tied now, 19 to 19, one more hit to take it all.
Only problem? You can’t fucking find him.
