“Quit worrying about what people think,” he said.
“You saw what it was like when we went to The True-Blue.”
“Did you hear about it from anyone on the board?”
“No, but—”
“And my guess is you won’t. No one had a problem with us being there together. No one but you,” he corrected. “In fact, most folks looked pleased about it.”
“That doesn’t mean the board won’t care,” she countered.
“You were worried about the agency’s reputation. But if folks are okay with us and no one complains, you shouldn’t worry, especially since nothing’s going on.” Owen resisted the urge to glance out the window to look for a lightning bolt heading to strike him down for that whopper.
“We kissed.”
“Darlin’, that’s nothing compared to what we could be doing.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “We need ground rules for tonight. One, no touching.”
“That include high fives if you pull off a seven-ten split?” he asked.
A stern glare answered his question. “And no innuendos or those looks.”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed a finger menacingly at him. “Don’t pull that innocent confused routine with me. I know you know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t,” he lied, unable to resist taunting her.
“Oh, please. You need to be serious. This is important. I don’t want people getting the wrong impression.”
“One thing I learned in the military was how to weed out what mattered from what didn’t. Believe me, I know what’s important, and fretting about what people think isn’t. That does as much good as hollering at the weather.”
Owen smiled. Tonight, he’d implement Operation Teach Carly How to Live Again, and if he had a little fun himself? Well, nothing wrong with that.
Chapter Eleven
After reaching AllAmerican Lanes and Games and parking, when Owen reached the passenger door intent on opening it for Carly, she stood waiting. He shook his head. The little firebrand was bound and determined every chance she got to remind him they were only friends.
Alerted to her tactics, when they reached the front door, he slid around her and opened it before she could. He waited while she glared at him, hands on her hips. “Friends don’t open doors for each other.”
“I do when the friend is female. It’s called being polite, and if my mama heard I forgot my manners with a woman, date or not, she’d box my ears.” He nodded toward the door he still held. “You goin’ in or are you gonna stand here calling attention to us?”
His comment sent her scurrying inside the bowling alley. “You’re being silly. Your mother won’t know anything about whether you held the door for me or not.”
He laughed. “Right. This from the woman who knows when someone in Service sneezes half the town shows up with chicken soup within an hour.”
“All right. I’ll concede your point on manners.”
The door closed with a gentle woosh behind them, and his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside. Families and friends, from teens to seniors, sat at tables socializing. The crack of the pins, mixed with voices and laughter, filled the air as others bowled. Same old All American Lanes with the patriotic theme. Except for the new coat of paint, the décor hadn’t changed from his childhood.
“With the place packed tonight, I’d bet someone’s already calling my mom to tell her we’re here together.”
“As long as we treat each other like friends, there won’t be too much talk.”
Treat Carly like any other buddy? Impossible. Not if he lived to a hundred. None of his buddies filled out a shirt the way she did that pretty little orange number. He broke out in a sweat.
As they weaved through the restaurant and bar section, folks they passed called out a greeting. A few people, such as Emma Blancher from his mom’s bunko group, mentioned how thrilled his mother would be that he and Carly were “out together.”
