Page 29 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“Coming right up,” he replied with a bored drawl.

As I waited, I glanced back at Merritt. She was setting up her next shot, her concentration intense. That image brought a nostalgic smile to my face. She always did take things seriously, even the small stuff.

The bartender slid the pitcher across the counter to me along with two frosted glasses. “Anything else?” he asked, sounding as if he hoped I’d say no.

“That’ll do,” I replied, picking up the chilly handle of the pitcher.

I made my way back to our lane and poured us each a glass. Merritt picked it up and grinned. “I feel like a rebel.”

I laughed before taking a drink.

“Alright, let me finish kicking your ass,” I teased.

She put down the glass and collected her ball. She threw it, sending it toward the pins. They toppled in a satisfying crash, though not quite a strike. Merritt punched the air triumphantly anyway. “That’s how it’s done.”

I grinned, admiring her resilience. “Not bad. But you’re still trailing behind.”

She sipped her beer, foam clinging to her lips. “For now.”

The rest of the game was close, just like it always used to be. She pushed me to try harder, made me sweat a little, and I loved every second of it. When I landed two strikes in the final frame, securing the win, she groaned dramatically, collapsing into the seat next to me.

“Of course you had to show off one last time,” she said with a huff.

“You love it.” I smirked, slumping back in the seat beside her. “Admit it, Merritt. You missed this.”

She glanced over, her expression softening. “Maybe a little.”

The conversation had started slow, but once it picked up, it was like no time had passed at all. We started people-watching, pointing out the muffin tops and bad hairstyles, making up ridiculous scenarios for strangers.

“Okay, okay, what about that guy?” Merritt said, nudging me. She pointed at a middle-aged man with a gut and a mullet who was yelling at the ball return.

“Easy,” I said, leaning forward. “He’s a former pro bowler who’s been banned from every league in the country for using performance-enhancing drugs. Now he spends his days hustling amateurs at rundown alleys.”

“What kind of drugs would that be for bowling?” she asked.

“Beer and nachos, I think.”

She burst out laughing. “You’re such an idiot.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Your turn.”

Her gaze scanned the room before landing on a teenage couple fumbling their way through a game a few lanes down. The boy looked nervous as hell, and the girl was giggling uncontrollably.

“They’re on their first date,” Merritt said. “She’s been into him forever, but he’s clueless. He only figured it out when his best friend dared him to ask her out.”

“Classic,” I said, nodding approvingly. “How’s it end?”

She thought for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips. “He kisses her in the parking lot. She keeps the scorecard as a souvenir. They end up together for the rest of high school.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said quietly.

We played another game. She seemed relaxed, almost happy, which made me happy.

When the game was over and we turned in our shoes, she stopped me at the door.

“Thanks, Kannon,” she said. “I needed this. It’s been a long time since I just had fun.”

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re welcome. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next time.”