Page 28 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

I shrugged. “Of course not. Compared to, like, Bigfoot, they’re positively dainty.”

She’d barely started to lace up before I reached over, swatting her hands away.

“Kannon, I can tie my own shoes,” she protested, but I ignored her, tugging the laces tight.

“Maybe, but you would take twice as long. It’s a big job, caging these beasts.”

“Why do I put up with you?” She sighed dramatically but let me finish.

I couldn’t help but smirk. It felt good, doing something simple for her, like old times. I liked taking care of her and teasing her. I had missed this about her. We walked to our lane, laughing at the multicolored clown shoes that had probably seen thousands of feet. That was not a thought I wanted to spend too much time on.

“Ready?” I asked after we each picked a ball.

Merritt nodded. “Let’s do this.”

“I’m not going easy on you,” I said.

“Bring it on, sucker.” She hefted her ball, took a deep breath, and hurled it down the lane. It was a gutter ball, but she turned around with a laugh. “Well, I guess I haven’t improved since high school.”

Without a word, I picked up my own ball and rolled it down the lane smoothly. A strike.

Merritt clapped her hands, cheering. “Show-off,” she teased.

“Only when you’re watching,” I shot back.

Her next couple of frames weren’t any better.

“Should I get the bumper guards?” I asked.

She glared at me as I held back a laugh.

“Shut up,” she shot back, but there was a spark in her eyes. That was what I wanted to see. This was the Merritt I knew from years ago. And she wasn’t smothered by a dark cloud of sadness for a change.

By the fifth frame, her competitive streak kicked in. I’d forgotten how fierce she could be, but watching her line up her shots, analyzing every angle like she was solving a puzzle, reminded me. She started nailing spares, closing the gap between our scores.

“You’re sweating, Kannon,” she said, smirking as she sank back into her seat. “Worried I might win?”

I grabbed my ball, shaking my head as I approached the lane. “You’ve never beaten me, Merritt. Why start now?”

“First time for everything.”

I chuckled, focusing on the pins. My shot curved perfectly, sending them scattering for a strike. I turned back, arms spread wide. “Still got it.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Let’s see if you can keep it up, hotshot.”

“Wait,” I said as she picked up her ball. “I need a drink. What do you want?”

She paused for a second. “A beer. I always wanted to drink beer like the older crowd. Remember how cool we thought they were with their pitchers of beer and nachos?”

The older crowd was the twenty-somethings that hung out at the bowling alley because they were very un-cool. But to us, they had been the coolest kids ever. We had tried several times to order our own pitcher, but it never worked. I even tried a fake ID and it still failed.

It did feel like we were breaking the rules by finally getting to order one.

“Beer it is,” I said.

I walked over to the bar, the floor sticky under my shoes. The bartender looked up from his phone as I approached.

“Pitcher of Coors Light,” I said.