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I take my position, hoping I don’t make a complete fool of myself.
Is it too late to request bumpers?
I exhale and swing my arm, letting my ball fly down the lane at Mach speed. Thanks to it weighing an ounce over a feather, it gets there quickly, but unfortunately, only takes down two pins in the process. Turning around, I pin my date with a look. “You promised to suck more than me, right?”
TD crosses his heart over his chest and holds up two fingers. “Boy Scout’s honor.”
Chuckling, I grab my ball when it returns once more. “That’ll probably be hard for you. You’ve always been a natural athlete. Bowling under a two-fifty is going to be difficult for you.”
He’s kicked back in one of the chairs, a smile on his lips as he watches me. “I can throw gutter balls like no other, El. Especially if it helps me seal the deal for another kiss later.”
My throat is suddenly dry.
There have been stolen kisses throughout the week. He stayed for dinner a few times after bringing Brody home from practice, and there was even one quick, yet incredibly hot kiss after the game last night when he pulled me between two SUVs in the parking lot and laid one on me. But there has been no talk about second base since Sunday’s cookout at the cabin. To be honest, that’s all I’ve thought about. My body is humming for his touch.
True to his word, I win our first game, despite my dismal one hundred and thirty-one pin game, and to celebrate, I make him pose with me in front of the scoring screen, selfie-style. TD wraps his hands around my waist and draws me back against his body for the picture. As he does, his hard-on brushes against my backside, but he doesn’t adjust our positions. He has to know I can feel it, considering it jumps and starts to get harder within seconds, but he never says a word. He just smiles for the photo as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
That hum in my veins turns into a full-force tsunami, causing me to blush and my skin to prickle with awareness.
Before we start a second game, I take a moment to regroup in the bathroom, while he orders a pizza and two waters. In the mirror, I spot a woman with minimal sexual experience, who looks wild and excited for what could come next. Her cheeks are flush, her eyes wide and shiny, her lips full and glossy. She’s been thinking about her friend in a way she’s tried to deny herself, but now can’t stop that train of thoughts.
She wants him.
Bad.
But with limited experience—thanks to getting pregnant in high school after her first sexual boyfriend and a few very select dates in the years since—comes a lot of nervousness. What if I’m no good at this? What if TD expects at least some level of experience and what I have to offer falls flat on his expectations?
Closing my eyes, I try to push those worries out of my head.
We’re not there yet. He hasn’t made any indication he’s looking to get naked right away, so why am I worrying about that now? That’s a bridge I’ll cross when the time arises.
Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and exit the restroom. Just as I’m arriving where he’s waiting, I notice a group of teenagers approaching.
“Coach!” the boy leading the pack hollers. I recognize him instantly. Patrick is a year younger than Brody and plays on the football team. He’s with a group of five others, two boys and three girls, all of which I identify.
“Hey, guys, how’s it going?” TD asks, turning and giving me a smile as I step up into our designated lane.
“Pretty good,” Patrick replies, noticing me for the first time. “Hi, Miss Daniels.”
“Hello,” I greet politely, even though my heart has jumped up into my throat. I knew there was a chance we’d be seen tonight, but I wasn’t expecting it to be some of Brody’s teammates and friends.
“We’ll let you two get back to your game. We’re down on the end. I bet PJ and Felix I would beat them. Losers have to do the milk mile challenge,” Patrick says, a wicked grin on his face.
TD laughs. “That sounds terrible.” Glancing over Patrick’s shoulder, he asks, “You girls didn’t agree to this challenge, did you?”
“Heck no!” Gia announces, while Claire offers a fast, “No way.”
“I’m allergic,” the third girl, Stephanie, adds.
“Probably for the best. Make sure you boys don’t puke on my field,” TD announces with a grin.
“Deal, Coach. See you later,” PJ says.
“Be good,” TD replies as the six teens walk down to the far end of the lanes.
“Do I even want to know what the milk mile challenge is?”
“Nope,” TD states, “but I’m going to tell you anyway. The losers of their game will have to drink an entire gallon of chocolate milk between a mile’s worth of laps. The person who pukes first…loses.”
