"Hi."
"You look beautiful."
I'm wearing dark jeans, a fitted black top, and black ankle boots with three-inch heels. Nothing super sexy, but it's nice that he thinks I look good.
"So do you," I say, and he laughs.
"I don't think anyone's ever called me beautiful before."
I doubt that. I really do. Because he is. "Well, you are. Deal with it."
He takes my hand as we walk to his car. "So I have a confession."
"Oh no."
"I didn't actually make dinner reservations."
I stop walking. "Asher."
"Wait, hear me out." He opens the passenger door for me. "I thought we could do something different tonight. Something fun."
"What kind of fun?"
"You'll see."
Twenty minutes later, we're standing in front of a bowling alley in Capitol Hill. I look up at the neon sign, then at Asher. "Bowling?" I ask.
"Bowling." He grins. "When's the last time you went bowling?"
"College?"
"Exactly. Come on. It'll be fun."
We get our shoes, hideous red and blue, they absolutely do not go with my outfit. As soon as we have them laced up, Asher starts trash-talking.
"I should warn you," he says as we walk to our lane. "I'm very competitive."
"Oh really?"
"Really. I don't lose."
"We'll see about that,” I say with a ton of false confidence. I bowl first. The ball goes straight into the gutter.
Asher tries not to laugh. "That was... a good effort."
"Shut up."
My second ball knocks down three pins. Asher gives me a slow clap. "Okay, hotshot," I say. "Your turn."
He steps up to the lane with this cocky confidence, winds up, and releases the ball. It curves beautifully down the lane and knocks down seven pins. His second ball gets the remaining three.
"Spare!" he announces, turning to me with a grin. "See? Told you I was good."
"Beginner's luck."
"We'll see."
By the third frame, it's clear that Asher is actually good at bowling and I am very much not. But I don't care. We're laughing too hard for me to care about the score.
