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It wasn’t the first time Mack had bought me a present, nor was it the first time he’d sprung one on me so unexpectedly. However, he was on a date with another woman, for god’s sake. He shouldn’t be getting me a gift, and yet he did, because that was just him. He knew that I would either sit out the bowling or be intensely uncomfortable for the entire night. So, he fixed it for me. Classic Mack.
To her credit, Lindsay took the whole thing pretty well. It was clear that she thought it was a bit strange but I got the feeling that Mack had managed to put her mind at ease. Halfway through our first game she had already bought a matching pair (overnight shipped) for our next bowling date, which I really hoped wasn’t tomorrow—though I wouldn’t be surprised. The woman really did love to bowl.
Brady, on the other hand, despite also being a very enthusiastic bowler, had been like a child who was being forced to share his favorite toy and I was a hot minute away from slapping him.
It didn’t matter how many times I said the shoes were not a big deal. I believed they weren’t—Mack hadn’t even stayed to watch me open the box, he’d just handed it over and then left me to it while he and his date went to the shoe desk. If he had cared about my response, he would have waited around to see it. Yet Brady was behaving like I had a ring on my fucking finger rather than a pair of perfect black and white bowling shoes on my feet.
“Anyone need another drink?” he asked, emptying the last of his beer. I held up my mostly full glass in response, not that he was really asking me, he was looking directly at Lindsay, who was gazing at Mack like he’d invented bowling.
“Guess it’s just me then,” Brady grumbled like a petulant toddler and I only just resisted an eye roll so deep it would have detached a nerve.
“Actually! Can I get another?” I said with a wide smile as Mack howled in triumph behind me. Another strike then. He was wiping the floor with all of us. That was probably part of the reason Brady was all pouty too.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, like a little ray of sunshine. It was fine if he was having a shit time (plenty of people went on shit dates), but he could at least try to act like he wanted to be here, rather anywhere else. I, for example, would much prefer to be at home, snuggled up with curly fries, maybe some chicken nuggets, and a movie rather than having to look at his surly face. Yet I was here, still smiling. Again, this may have been the cocktails.
I took another sip of my drink as Mack strutted his way back to our seats. Lindsay beamed at him from their side of the booth. I wasn’t sure how, or why, it had happened but as soon as we’d sat down one side of the little podium had become Lindsay and Mack’s territory and the other mine and Brady’s. Invisible battle lines were drawn and, so far, had been strictly abided by. It was either a bowling thing or a date thing; whichever the reason, it was weird. But I wasn’t going to cross that invisible line because it seemed like Lindsay and Mack were having a good time together. And I wasn’t going to get in the way of that.
She high-fived him and handed over his drink like the perfect housewife after a long day. I wondered idly if I could learn a thing or two from Lindsay, and not just in the posture department. She was charming and sweet and didn’t mind if her date bought another woman a gift. Those were all excellent qualities. Then there was the fact you could bounce a quarter off not only her ass, but pretty much everywhere else, too. I pulled myself out of my slouched position and straightened my shoulders.
“You’re up, Cheese,” Mack said and I bumped his offered fist—while staying on my side of the line—before making my way to the ball thing. I had taken great care in choosing my ball. It was black, and pink, and glittery. And, yes, I was tempted to try and smuggle it out of here. It had not, however, helped me to hit more than a few pins at a time. With only a couple more frames left before the end of our second game, it was time to accept that maybe I just wasn’t a bowler. But I still had the shoes.
I sent my ball sailing down the lane and once again it ended up in the gutter. It started off okay—mostly straight and heading in the right direction—but almost every time about half way down the lane it veered off to one side.
When I turned, Mack was alone in the booth. In the middle of the booth.
“Where did Lindsay go?”
He took a sip of beer before answering. “Bathroom.” His eyes made a slow perusal from my feet up to my face and my pulse started the drum. “Maybe I shouldn't have bought you those shoes?”
“What?” I gaped, planting my hands on my hips. If he wanted these shoes back he was going to have to wrestle them off my goddamn feet.
“You are truly terrible at this.”
“That has nothing to do with the shoes,” I said, gesturing down at them as I did a small jig. These cocktails really were something.
He chuckled, taking another slow sip of beer and I was mesmerized by the action, by the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. One arm was draped over the back of the booth, his knees spread wide. He was in a pair of jeans and a blue plaid button down that was making his eyes look bluer than I had ever seen them. And, even though they were gross, he somehow managed to make even the bowling shoes look good, which was ridiculous. Had he always been this sexy and I just hadn’t noticed? It was confronting, knowing I had been next to him all these years and largely oblivious. Well, maybe not oblivious so much as in denial.
A movie started to play out in my head. I could see myself walking over there, straddling his lap and—
“Brady’s gone,” Lindsay said, breaking me out of the spontaneous, and highly inappropriate, fantasy in my head.
“He what?” Mack and I said together.
“Gone,” she repeated, eyes wide. My mind was having trouble processing so soon after thinking about having Mack’s tongue in my mouth.
“Maybe he went to the bathroom?” I suggested but she shook her head, blonde curls swaying over her shoulders. How did she get her hair to do that? Not important right now.
“No, that’s what I thought, too, but the bartender said he just walked out.”
I opened my mouth to provide another alternative, then closed it again when nothing came to mind. I honestly wasn’t that surprised. Pissed, yes I was definitely pissed, but not that surprised. He couldn’t have at least told me he was leaving? Feigned a headache or an upset stomach?Something?He was going to hear about this next time I saw him on the stairs.
As much as I hadn’t actually wanted to be here with him (once he turned all grumpy and sour), I was even less interested in being a third wheel on Mack and Lindsay’s date.
“You don’t need to leave, Chase,” Mack said, reading my mind.
“It’s fine. As you said, I suck at this, so I’ll just leave the two of you to it. You’ll have more fun without me, anyway.”
“That’s not true,” Lindsay said without any real feeling, not that I could blame her. She had initially wanted a buffer but now that we were here it was clear that what she actually wanted was Mack all to herself. Once again, I couldn't blame her. Not that I wanted to be the one on the date with him. I didn’t. I still didn't want to date him. I couldn’t want to date him. I needed to get out of their way.
