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“But that won’t be fair to you girls,” said Levi.
Raini’s spine snapped straight. “Why? Because an all-male team would win for sure?”
Levi spluttered. “No, because … Tanner, you explain.”
The hellhound scowled. “Don’t expect me to dig your way out of your hole.”
Khloé rolled her eyes. “Let’s just head to our lanes.”
Once they’d entered their names into the scoreboards, they grabbed drinks from the concession area and chose which balls to put in the ball-return machine.
Up first, Khloé lifted one of the smooth balls. The weight was just right. The soles of her shoes squeaked against the floor as she crossed to the glossy bowling lane, careful not to step over the red line. She planted her feet wide, held the ball tight between her hands, bent over and—
“Wait, you do the granny roll?” asked Keenan, who stood at the mouth of the neighboring lane. “Seriously?”
Straightening, Khloé frowned at him. “Think of how many people have stuck their fingers into the ball. I highly doubt the workers clean them after every game—hell, I’ll be surprised if they clean them more than once a year. Ergo, I am not sticking my fingers into those germ-infested holes.” Just the thought made her shudder.
“And she says she’s not OCD,” muttered Harper from the bench.
“You can’t bowl like that,” insisted Keenan. “You’ll hurt your back.”
“More importantly, you’ll lose,” said Levi.
Keenan scowled at him. “That’s more important?”
Khloé shook her head in a “whatever” gesture and turned back to the pins. “I won’t lose.” She had the granny roll down to a science.
She assumed her prior position and rolled the ball hard. It rushed down the lane fast and crashed into the white pins, knocking all ten of them to the floor. Smug, Khloé strolled back to the bench. “Now, that’s how I roll. Pun intended.”
Having also scored a strike, Keenan grinned at his little imp. “I’d high-five you, but something tells me you’re not going to touch my hands until I’ve washed them.”
“Washed them and used antibacterial gel. I have some in my purse.”
“Of course you do.” Keenan took a seat. “You’re up, Tanner.” And he did not see this going well for his friend, but he said nothing.
The hellhound mimicked Devon as she slipped her thumb and two of her fingers into the holes of a ball and carefully lifted it. Both she and Tanner then headed to the start of their respective lanes. The couple counted to three and then released their balls. Devon’s zipped along the lane and whacked the pins hard, sending all but one crashing to the floor. Tanner’s ball rolled sideways and found its home in the gutter.
Devon gave her mate a look of mock sympathy. “Bad luck, Pooch.”
Tanner threw her a glare and returned to the bench.
“You sure you don’t want any pointers, Tanner?” asked Keenan.
“Fuck off,” muttered the hellhound.
Keenan just laughed.
Both teams threw themselves into the game. A lot of trash talk went on, mostly between Keenan and his teammates. Tanner, who was gracefully losing, repeatedly reminded everyone it was just a game. Until it started to look as though he had a shot at overtaking others—then he began to take the game uber seriously. He even tried mimicking Khloé’s granny rolls to see if it brought him any luck. It didn’t—she just made it look easy.
After scoring yet another strike, Keenan crossed to Khloé, who was standing near the table between the benches, drinking her soda. “I see you’re winning.”
“Of course I’m winning,” she said. “I was taught by the best.”
“Who?”
“My Aunt Mildred.”
Devon threw back her head. “Oh my god.”
Khloé’s brow creased. “You really don’t remember her? She had a scar on her lip. A really deep dimple in her chin. Wore cloying rose perfume all the time. And she had a strawberry birthmark on her neck that was shaped a little like the UK.”
Devon burst out, “You do not have an Aunt Mildred. Keenan, there’s a high chance I’ll grab her by the throat if you don’t move her right now.”
“Can’t let you do that, Devon,” he said. “No one touches my girl.”
The hellcat just about melted. “Awwwwwww.”
Having taken her turn, Harper crossed to them. “I broke another nail.”
“You also have a little mascara goop in the corner of your eye,” Raini told her.
Harper went to wipe it with her finger, but Khloé grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t.”
The sphinx frowned. “What?”
“Touch your eye without washing your germ-covered hands first.”
Harper’s eyes twinkled. “So … I really shouldn’t lick my fingers either?”
“What? No, of course not. Wait, no. No, no, no, don’t do it. Don’t—oh my god, you’re such a freak!”
Keenan almost laughed, but his good humor fled him when a sobering sight caught his attention. Gavril was standing near the entrance of the bowling alley with two of his sentinels, and the Prime’s eyes were fixed on Keenan. Son of a bitch.
