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“Really?” My brow lines as I watch her.
“My therapist says I need to get out more. Be more social.”
“Oh.” Nodding, I study her a moment. She seems harmless. I suppose if I had a therapist — not that I think I need one — he or she would say the same thing. “Then we should be evenly matched.”
“Only you’re a lot stronger than I am.” She picks up a swirly purple ball and hands it to me. “How’s that one?”
It feels very light, but after all her effort handing it to me, I decide to cover. “You’re a bowling wizard! This feels exactly right.”
That wins me a little smile. “Run get your shoes. I’ll set up our scoreboard.”
Following orders, I go to the center island and hand over my Michael Kors pumps and am rewarded with a funky-looking pair of slick-soled, patchwork lace-ups.
“These are clean, right?” Cutting my blue eyes at the guy behind the counter, I ignore his stunned expression.
“Uhhh… yeah?”
So not encouraging. “Thanks.”
When I return to our lane, Sally has not only set up our scorecard, she’s ordered us a pitcher of cheap beer. I’ve never been happier to indulge. Today sucked ass, most specifically this morning when I pushed Koa away. I’ve been brooding about it ever since.
“I’ll get the next round,” I say, as she stands and clumsily picks up a swirly green ball.
She staggers forward toward the lane, and I worry for a second she might trip and end up dragged down the lane like one of those blooper reels, fingers still in the ball. She swings her arm back and then manages to release it in time. Sadly, it only rolls a few feet before heading straight to the gutter. Lips poked out, she turns and stomps back toward me.
“That’s okay!” I call. “Try again!” Her brows knit, and I nod. “You get two tries.”
She stops at the ball carousel and waits until her swirly green ball pops out of the chute. Picking it up, she repeats the entire process exactly the same, even down to the tense first moments, when I fear she might wind up in the pins.
Another gutter ball. “I suck,” she sighs, stomping back to where I sit and flopping into a plastic chair beside me.
“No!” I try to be encouraging. “You’re just learning! Practice is the key to everything.”
Standing, I pick up the purple ball and walk to the lane. Vaguely I recall giving up on bowling because I didn’t see the point. Lifting the ball behind me, I swing my arm forward releasing it in a perfect glide that slams into the backboard, all pins down.
“Strike!” Sally cries from behind me.
Turning back, I roll my eyes and shrug. “Beginner’s luck?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re good at everything.” Her sassy response makes me laugh, and I skip over to her, lifting a plastic cup of beer and taking a long drink before dropping to the chair beside her.
“Your turn,” I say.
“I thought you got to go twice?”
“Not when you bowl a strike. I’ll get the score for my next two rolls.”
She exhales loudly and pushes up, going to the carousel to retrieve her green ball. Two more rounds; two more gutter balls. I’m trying not to laugh as she sulks back to me and pours another large plastic cup of beer.
“I suck ass,” she cries, taking a long gulp.
“You do not,” I say, walking to take my next two shots. As anticipated, I bowl another strike, and Sally makes a cry of disgust.
Laughing, I turn back to where she’s sitting, but my
chest clenches when I see Koa standing behind the row of chairs watching me, eyes smoldering. The smile dies on my lips as my body flushes with heat. Oh, shit.
“Does this mean I have to bowl two more gutter balls?” Sally cries, and I can tell she’s getting a little tipsy.
