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Somehow, my ball has bobbled its way back after reversing its course through the gutter. The only option left is to finish the game like a man, but this time I don’t attempt to show off, rolling and hitting four pins, and staying on my feet.
“Boom!” Marisol yells, pumping her fist into the air. “I am a bowling God!” Now she’s just being ridiculous.
“Yeah, yeah. You could at least wait until the pins finish falling,” I wave her off.
She bounces over to me, floating on her victory. “Don’t be such a poor-sport about it. You can’t win them all.” Her laughter draws the attention and smirks from those around us. “Another round?”
Cocking my brow at her, I respond, “I don’t think I need any balls in my life unless they’re my own.”
We return our items to the counter, catching the snickering remarks of the guy putting our shoes away, like I’m the only one who’s ever slipped ass-up on the polished wood. Marisol—the traitor—snickers right along with him.
It’s around midnight when we finish bowling, so we decide to call it a night and head back to the hotel. When we exit the building, I snag the keys from Marisol, noticing her drooping, tired eyes. Seconds after we leave the lot, I glance over and grin because she’s passed out and lightly snoring. Once we reach the hotel, I pick a spot right next to our door and turn the car off.
“Mare,” I whisper. “Mare, we’re here. Wake up.” She doesn’t budge an inch.
Chuckling under my breath, I remember how deep she sleeps, and slip from the car. When I open the passenger side door, I lean in and take her hand, pulling her closer. Ever since we were little, Marisol has slept like a rock. We’d have to shake the shit out of her to get her to wake up. But tonight, I go for swooping her up into my arms, kicking the door closed with my foot, as Marisol wraps her arms around my neck and snuggles closer.
“Mmm, Jace,” she murmurs while burying her face in my neck.
I pause, standing in the middle of the parking lot with my dream girl in my arms. My heart is pounding erratically against my ribcage, trying to break free as I gaze upon her tranquil features, reminding me of Sleeping Beauty. The way my insides coil smacks a cold, hard truth against my face like a wet fish slap, that four-letter word circulating in my mind. Shit. I’m one-hundred percent in love with this girl.
The real tricky part is getting the key out of her back pocket while balancing her in one arm. It probably would have been wise to think of that before getting all heroic and carrying her inside. Once inside, her bed is only a handful of steps away, easy enough to reach and pull the covers back. After removing her shoes and tucking her pretty little toes under the sheets, I pull them up to her chin and watch her sleep like a stalker. I’m beginning to understand all those sappy romance movies the girls watch because, like all those fools—like Grease—I’m hopelessly devoted to her.
Finally, I rip myself away, stripping down to my boxers, and putting a pair of basketball shorts on so I’m not in my skivvies when Marisol wakes. Then turn to her one more time. After a moment, I shake my head, laughing. If Marisol wasn’t Alex’s sister, he’d laugh his ass off over my stage-five behavior.
Putting thoughts of Alex beating the shit out of me to a close, I climb into bed and pass out within seconds, getting one of the best nights’ sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.
