Page 31 of Matchmaking On The Menu

When Quadri wins the next round with minimal effort and zero celebration, she hands me the tiny plastic prize like she’s presenting me with a medal.

“It’s a keychain,” I say.

“It’s victory,” she replies.

“I lost.”

“You participated.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t like this version of encouragement.”

“You didn’t like your idea of being set on fire either.”

“That I’ll admit to,” I say, pocketing the small orange dinosaur.

“What’s next?” Shelly asks, practically vibrating. You’d think we just told her the fun is about to expire and she needs to fit in as much chaos as possible before it does.

“Apple bobbing!” Mary squeals.

Quadri’s head snaps toward her cousin so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t make a sound. “Not on your fucking life.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I cut in, already shaking my head, “it’s disgusting. Think about how many other people have been in there with their mouths hanging open, drooling and spitting.”

Shelly perks up immediately, which is never a good sign. “Yeah, what if you come up with Mr. Davenport’s teeth instead of an apple?”

“Ew, Shell,” Quadri groans, clapping a hand over her mouth and wrinkling her nose. “That’s foul.”

Mary holds up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I didn’t think of it like that.”

“How did you not think of it like that?” I ask, genuinely concerned now.

She shrugs. “I used to do it all the time as a kid.”

There’s a beat, then her expression shifts. It’s subtle at first, then not so subtle.

“Oh no,” I say, watching the color drain from her face.

She swallows some more. “Yeah.”

“Too late,” Shelly says, delighted.

“I regret everything,” Mary mutters, turning a worrying shade of green.

“All right, less body fluid talk. More fun.” Shelly announces as she points to a sign that reads: CIDER CHUG CHALLENGE – WINNER GETS A FREE ROUND.

“How about that?”

“I am not doing that,” I say, shaking my head.

“I absolutely am not.”

Mary tilts her head. “I could try?”

We all look at her.

“You?” I ask.