The more Amber missed, the harder it was for Foreman to hold in his mirth. He'd paused to watch her, resting the butt of the rifle on the counter, a new snort of laughter working its way up his throat each time Amber faced the ducks like they were her mortal enemies and had insulted her mother besides. He took her jab in good spirits, even clapped when she dinged one duck and managed to knock it over. He'd realized the trick to this game. Don't care at all. What did it matter if he got to go home with a...Jesus, half these 'prizes' he couldn't even recognize. A neon orange fake-fur tube with stickers for eyes and a felt tongue: a snake? He didn't want it or need it. He'd thought he'd be humiliated if Amber came out ahead of him, but the longer he watched her, the more he realized just how random it was. And even their own private bet: either he'd be doing what Amber wanted--which he would anyway, because it was such a damn turn on to watch her overcome with pleasure because of him--or she'd be doing what he wanted, which made him feel smug, and warm right through, whether he was physically freezing his ass off or not.
When Amber finally slammed her gun down on the counter, Foreman raised his and took aim. Well, 'took aim'. He shot from the hip, like some movie Western gunslinger. If he won, he won. If he didn't, then...Amber wouldn't have much room to mock him, since he'd stopped even trying. Three cracks in quick succession, and with a bang, one of the ducks fell over on his second shot. And that was it.
Half to hide his wide smile, and half to genuinely warm his hands, Foreman brought them up his mouth and blew through them, rubbing them together and hunching his shoulders a bit against the cold. He still felt like laughing. Not quite at Amber, who looked mad enough to spit. More like...Amber-adjacent. She'd tried to convince him to come here so they could mock the place, not take it seriously at all. He'd been the one certain that he'd hate it. And now he couldn't stop grinning, no matter how much he tried to press his lips together into seriousness. "We never agreed what we'd do if we tied," he said, hoping that Amber would start to see the ridiculous side over the one where neither of them had been able to do better than a ten-year-old at a carnival game.
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When Amber finally slammed her gun down on the counter, Foreman raised his and took aim. Well, 'took aim'. He shot from the hip, like some movie Western gunslinger. If he won, he won. If he didn't, then...Amber wouldn't have much room to mock him, since he'd stopped even trying. Three cracks in quick succession, and with a bang, one of the ducks fell over on his second shot. And that was it.
Half to hide his wide smile, and half to genuinely warm his hands, Foreman brought them up his mouth and blew through them, rubbing them together and hunching his shoulders a bit against the cold. He still felt like laughing. Not quite at Amber, who looked mad enough to spit. More like...Amber-adjacent. She'd tried to convince him to come here so they could mock the place, not take it seriously at all. He'd been the one certain that he'd hate it. And now he couldn't stop grinning, no matter how much he tried to press his lips together into seriousness. "We never agreed what we'd do if we tied," he said, hoping that Amber would start to see the ridiculous side over the one where neither of them had been able to do better than a ten-year-old at a carnival game.