Chapter 320 You Sure You Want Me on the Trigger?

Chapter 320 You Sure You Want Me on the Trigger?

The onlookers looked completely baffled, even Amelia couldn't figure out what had just happened.

The countdown wasn't even finished when Asher scrambled off Dorian, his face turning red. The moment he walked back to Amelia's side, the two of them immediately started arguing.

"Seriously, Asher, what is wrong with you!" Dorian's brow furrowed, her voice full of confusion and frustration. "There were twenty seconds left—why did you just stop?"

"I..." Asher's face had recovered somewhat, but his ears were still flushed red. He couldn't seem to meet Dorian's eyes. He turned his head away and stayed silent for a long moment before finally forcing out, "I wasn't feeling well."

"Not feeling well?" Dorian blinked. "But you knocked out almost thirty push-ups right at the start. How could you suddenly not feel well?"

"It's because... you—" Asher began, then abruptly stopped.

"Because of me?" Dorian pressed, her tone indignant. "I was lying there perfectly still underneath you. I didn't do anything. How could I make you feel unwell?"

"You... you were breathing." Asher sucked in a sharp breath, as if throwing caution to the wind. "We were that close together, and your breathing was affecting me, okay!"

He was telling the truth.

The position for couple's push-ups was intimate enough to make anyone blush.

The girl lay flat on her back while the boy braced himself above her, his hands planted on either side of the mat, rising and falling over her body.

When he pushed up, there was a bit of distance—manageable. But when he lowered himself down, they were so close they were practically touching.

Asher had never been this close to Dorian before. Close enough to see each individual eyelash. Close enough to catch his own reflection in her eyes. Even her breathing tangled with his own ragged breaths.

His breathing wasn't ragged from the push-ups themselves. It was because his heart was completely out of control.

Being that close to the girl he liked, every time their bodies drew near, every time their breaths mingled, his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst through his ribcage.

By the end, he felt like he couldn't breathe at all, so he'd just gotten up.

Yet, all this chaos was nothing but his own private turmoil and loss of control.

Dorian had clearly only been thinking about finishing the challenge. Realizing this made Asher feel even more dejected.

Dorian didn't understand what was going on with him, but Amelia, watching from the side, saw it crystal clear.

Falling for someone this straightforward and emotionally oblivious meant the road ahead would be long and difficult. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Asher.

"Okay, okay," Amelia took Dorian's hand, her voice gentle. "Don't dwell on it now. Besides, Asher didn't do it on purpose."

Dorian gazed forlornly toward the prize section where the Ragdoll cat plushie sat curled up on the display shelf, even its sleeping position unbearably adorable.

"But I already lost, and that cat..."

"I'll win it back for you," Amelia said.

"Really, Amelia?" Dorian's eyes lit up immediately.

"Don't worry," Amelia gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "We'll win this game for your cat."

When they reached the push-up mat, Amelia was about to lie down when Michael caught her arm.

He didn't say anything at first. Instead, he shrugged off his dark suit jacket. Then he bent down and spread the jacket carefully across the mat.

His face was already handsome, but without the jacket—wearing only a charcoal gray dress shirt and perfectly pressed black slacks—he was devastating.

His tall frame, the proportion of those broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, was on full display. His muscle definition was smooth and understated rather than bulky, radiating contained strength that made more than a few girls in the crowd unable to look away.

God, he's gorgeous—utterly magnetic.

"The mat's too thin. The ground's cold."

Michael's tone was casual, like taking care of her was second nature.

Watching him lay down his jacket, hearing those words, the girls in the crowd felt their hearts skip beats.

That was so thoughtful. Even though she'd only be lying there for a minute, he didn't want her to get cold.

And maybe it wasn't just about the cold—the mat didn't look particularly clean either, though he was too polite to say that out loud.

So many couples had attempted this challenge before, and not a single guy had noticed this kind of detail. Much less would any of them unhesitatingly lay down their own jacket on a mat that so many people had lain on, even stepped on.

The quality of that jacket was obviously exceptional too—it looked like a bespoke tailored suit, probably worth a small fortune.

He really did treat her like she was precious beyond measure.

Envious gazes rippled through the crowd.

Amelia lay down on the spread jacket. The moment the countdown started, Michael braced his hands on either side of her.

There were too many spectators for the scene to be truly distracting. But watching her lover's face draw close again and again in her field of vision still filled Amelia with quiet joy.

When the countdown ended—or rather, when the actual fifty-something seconds ran out—Michael had completed forty-eight push-ups.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

After waiting all evening, some of them for several days, they'd finally witnessed a couple make it to the final round. It was no small feat.

Michael's expression remained calm after finishing the push-ups, his breathing only slightly elevated. He hadn't even broken a sweat. The booth owner, on the other hand, had beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.

First round, ten rings, all landed. Second round, all phrases correct. Third round, forty-eight push-ups in fifty seconds—this young couple was absurdly, impossibly good.

When Amelia asked if they could proceed to the final round, the booth owner, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, had no choice but to grit his teeth and push forward a wooden board.

Dorian hadn't read the game instructions earlier, so this was the first time Amelia learned what the final challenge entailed—a carnival balloon shooting gallery.

The board had ten colorful balloons mounted on it, decreasing in size from top to bottom.

The topmost balloon was about the size of a basketball. The second was like a volleyball. The third resembled a beach ball.

Further down, they were sized like a football, a soccer ball, a bowling ball, and a softball.

The last three balloons were even smaller. The third from the bottom was tennis ball-sized, the second from the bottom was baseball-sized, and the very last one was only as big as a golf ball.

The booth owner began explaining the rules.

"The final round is simple. You start shooting from the top balloon and work your way down. Hit one, you continue. Miss one, you're done."

"Hit the fifth from the bottom, you get an air humidifier. Fourth from the bottom gets you a portable charger."

"Third from the bottom is a lipstick gift set. Second from the bottom is a tablet computer. Hit the last one and you can take home that Ragdoll cat."

At this point, the booth owner glanced at Amelia and Michael.

He looked at Michael's broad shoulders first, then at Amelia's petite frame.

He immediately added, "For this round, only the girlfriend can shoot. No problem with that, right?"

The moment the booth owner's eyes shifted, Amelia understood exactly what he was thinking.

He obviously assumed shooting was a guy's forte, that girls would struggle to hit the balloons. Forget hitting five or six—hitting even one would be difficult.

Making her shoot meant he was banking on her not being able to win any prize at all.

Dorian, listening nearby, immediately protested. "Wait, seriously? I just asked people standing around, and they said you didn't have this 'girls must shoot' rule before."

"What do you mean I didn't have it?" The booth owner's tone was self-righteous. "This is my rule. Wouldn't I know my own rules? You must be remembering wrong."

Dorian was about to argue further when Amelia raised a hand, signaling her to stop. She turned to the booth owner, meeting his eyes. "You're sure you want me to be the one shooting?"