Foreman's skepticism was quickly being overwhelmed by a strange mix of frustration and rueful amusement. He really didn't see how this was going to be fun. Amber had just spent a day in the clinic, and yet she seemed eager to be surrounded for another few hours by shrieking, sticky kids and frazzled parents. Not to mention, carnies out to make a buck off anyone who passed by. He had a feeling, from Amber's enthusiasm, that she'd be easy to suck into any competition where the price went up with every failure. Hot dogs, candy corn, and papier-mâché weren't arguments in favour of this thing, as far as he was concerned.
Amber's smile, though, and the way her eyes were shining like she was already surrounded by a swirl of midway lights, were affecting him. Foreman couldn't believe that he was going to give up a quiet evening just because Amber had a sudden, pointless desire to embrace the kitsch of a dinky little Hallowe'en festival. "That," he said, dropping his hand to cover hers on his thigh, though not pushing it away, "isn't a fair debate tactic."
He shook his head, letting out a short laugh at the image she painted. Yeah, like she was going to be terrified by a tape yelling boo and maybe a scary mask popping out of the wall at them. And it was even less likely that she'd want him to save her if she was. It was a little patronizing, but, he supposed, only because he wasn't getting into the spirit of the thing. And they could stay in other nights. Most nights. Maybe he shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it; it was the sort of thing he would have loved to mock when he was a teenager, and he would have loved the idea of his girlfriend leaping into his arms because she needed him to protect her from the big bad scary world. He might as well go with it, for Amber's sake.
"I feel like I'm in high school." Foreman rolled his eyes, though not seriously--he was laughing at himself more than anything. He took a right turn at the next lights, heading away from Amber's apartment and toward the little travesty of a carnival. He shot her a significant look. "If I was in high school, I'd have to win my girl a huge stuffed animal." Amber didn't like him opening doors, so he wondered how she'd feel about him acting like she couldn't throw a ball hard enough to knock over some milk bottles. He was sure she could; hell, she'd been beating him at minigolf before they'd stopped. As competitive as she was, she'd probably narrow her eyes and play until she had the biggest prize at the fair. But if they were going to go to the effort of going on a traditional kind of date, then she'd really convince him only if she went full out to play the part.
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Amber's smile, though, and the way her eyes were shining like she was already surrounded by a swirl of midway lights, were affecting him. Foreman couldn't believe that he was going to give up a quiet evening just because Amber had a sudden, pointless desire to embrace the kitsch of a dinky little Hallowe'en festival. "That," he said, dropping his hand to cover hers on his thigh, though not pushing it away, "isn't a fair debate tactic."
He shook his head, letting out a short laugh at the image she painted. Yeah, like she was going to be terrified by a tape yelling boo and maybe a scary mask popping out of the wall at them. And it was even less likely that she'd want him to save her if she was. It was a little patronizing, but, he supposed, only because he wasn't getting into the spirit of the thing. And they could stay in other nights. Most nights. Maybe he shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it; it was the sort of thing he would have loved to mock when he was a teenager, and he would have loved the idea of his girlfriend leaping into his arms because she needed him to protect her from the big bad scary world. He might as well go with it, for Amber's sake.
"I feel like I'm in high school." Foreman rolled his eyes, though not seriously--he was laughing at himself more than anything. He took a right turn at the next lights, heading away from Amber's apartment and toward the little travesty of a carnival. He shot her a significant look. "If I was in high school, I'd have to win my girl a huge stuffed animal." Amber didn't like him opening doors, so he wondered how she'd feel about him acting like she couldn't throw a ball hard enough to knock over some milk bottles. He was sure she could; hell, she'd been beating him at minigolf before they'd stopped. As competitive as she was, she'd probably narrow her eyes and play until she had the biggest prize at the fair. But if they were going to go to the effort of going on a traditional kind of date, then she'd really convince him only if she went full out to play the part.