Arcade Adventure | NEON LIT

Seaside arcades were where dreams went to die and coins went to disappear. But something kept bringing me back to that one at Southend—the 2p machines, the claw grabbers that never worked, and Ruby.

Ruby worked the change booth, handing out pound coins like she was guarding Fort Knox. Blue hair, nose ring, band shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans that showed off legs that went on forever. She always looked bored, but her eyes tracked everyone, everything.

Especially me.

"Back again?" she asked as I approached the booth. "That's three times this week."

"What can I say? I'm addicted to losing money."

"Aren't we all." She pushed my coins across the counter. "Try the new racing game. Nobody's beaten my high score yet."

Challenge accepted.

The racing game was in the back corner, one of those full-cabinet setups with steering wheel and pedals. Ruby's name was at the top of the leaderboard: RBY - 2:34:67.

I fed in coins, selected my car, started the race.

2:35:12. Close. Not close enough.

I tried again. 2:34:89. Closer.

Again. 2:34:51.

"Holy shit." Ruby's voice behind me. "You actually did it."

She was standing there, arms crossed, looking at the screen with something like respect.

"Told you I was addicted."

"Nobody beats my scores." She moved closer, peering at the leaderboard. "This is unprecedented."

"Guess I'm special."

"Guess you are." She glanced around—the arcade was mostly empty, just some kids on the 2p machines. "I finish in ten. Fancy a rematch?"

"Same terms?"

"Higher stakes." Her eyes met mine. "Loser buys drinks. Winner picks the place."

"You're on."

The rematch happened after close. Ruby had keys to the building, turned off most of the lights, left just enough glow from the machines to see by.

"Ready?" She settled into the driver's seat next to mine.

"Born ready."

The race was intense. She knew the track better than me—every shortcut, every optimal line. But I was faster on the straights, braver on the corners.

We crossed the finish line within a tenth of a second.

"Photo finish," she breathed. "Check the times."

We had. 2:33:45. 2:33:48.

"I win," I said.

"Barely." She wasn't upset—she was grinning. "So. Where do you pick?"

I looked around the dark arcade. "Right here."

"Here?"

"You said winner picks the place."

She laughed—surprised, delighted. "Here works."

She kissed me first, climbing out of her racing seat and into my lap in one smooth motion. Her mouth was eager, her hands immediately finding my shirt.

"Been wanting to do this since you first showed up," she admitted. "Watching you concentrate on those games. There's something about a man who focuses."

"I can focus on other things."

"Show me."

I lifted her onto the racing game cabinet—she was light, easy to maneuver—and dropped to my knees. Her jeans came down with help from both of us, revealing simple black underwear that I pulled aside.

"Fuck—right there—"

The arcade machines beeped and flashed around us as I ate her out, her hands gripping the steering wheel for support. She tasted like victory, and I worked her like I was going for another high score.

"Gonna—shit—already—"

She came with her thighs clamped around my head, shaking on top of the cabinet. Before she'd recovered, she was pulling me up.

"Inside. Now."

"Condom?"

"Prize box behind the counter. Don't ask."

I found one, rolled it on, and positioned myself between her legs. She was still perched on the cabinet, legs dangling, looking at me with pure want.

"Ready for the final race?"

"Full throttle."

I pushed in and she groaned, her head falling back against the screen. The cabinet protested our weight but held steady as I found my rhythm.

"Yes—fuck—faster—"

The arcade filled with sounds that weren't beeps and bloops—her moans, my grunts, the obscene slap of skin on skin. Somewhere, a claw machine played its sad little tune, completely drowned out.

"Close—touch me—"

I reached between us, found her clit, rubbed while I thrust. She came with a scream that echoed off the prize machines, clenching around me.

"Inside—do it—"

I came hard, buried deep, feeling her shake through aftershocks.

We stayed there for a moment, tangled on the racing game, catching our breath.

"New high score," she said eventually.

"Definitely."

"Same time next week?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

I became a regular at the Southend arcade. Ruby always saved me the good coins—the shiny ones that the machines actually accepted.

And every Tuesday after close, we'd race. The games were just foreplay.

Winner takes all.