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42
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date...
-Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare
Lena
The ball slams into the middle pins and all nine topple over. "Strike!" I fist pump and do a little dance. I turn to find JJ watching me with a strange look on his face. Isaac is sprawled out on the bench near the control panel where we’d earlier keyed in our names. I booked us into a bowling alley not far from the office. It didn’t take much to persuade Isaac to join us. Probably because Isaac’s a decent bowler, or so he’s told me. As am I. JJ, on the other hand, seems to be floundering. He’s dressed in bowling shoes, worn jeans, and a black T-shirt that stretches across his chest. He runs his fingers through his hair and his biceps bulge. It’s the first time I’ve seen him dressed in something other than his suits, and whoa, it takes his appeal to an entirely different level. He was already the sexiest man I’ve ever set my eyes on, but with his hair mussed up, and that perpetual scowl on his face, now tinged with frustration, he looks younger. Fiercer. Even more determined, if that’s possible. My belly clenches. A pulse flares to life between my legs. It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing; my body clearly digs him.
"Your turn." I stab my thumb over my shoulder, then walk over to grab my beer from the table next to the panel.
JJ rolls his shoulders. He stares down the bowling lane at the new set of pins which have been replaced at the end.
I take a deep pull from my beer bottle, follow him as he walks over to pick up the ball. He turns to the lane, then hesitates. He lets the ball dangle from his fingers as he focuses on the pins. The seconds stretch. A beat. Another.
I sit down on the bench next to Isaac, keeping enough distance between us that we don’t touch. "I’m glad you could make it," I murmur, my gaze fixed on JJ.
His shoulders stretch his T-shirt, which molds to the planes on his back. From this viewpoint, the way his torso tapers in at the waist then meets that tight butt of his is pure eye-porn. His jeans cling to his powerful thighs and damn, there’s something about how he fills out a pair of jeans. I’ve always been a sucker for a man who wears his jeans like he was born in them, and considering how much I love JJ in suits, I thought he’d converted me, but JJ in jeans is… A whole new level in debauchery.
"—Lena, you listening to me?"
"Eh?" I whip my head around to find Isaac is scowling at me. His lips turn down in an expression I remember from all the times we fought. His jaw is tight, and a pulse throbs at his temple. He glances to where his father leans forward, his knees bent. His fingers hooked in the ball as he lowers it to his side.
"I’m going to win you back, Lena, I’m not letting you go without a fight."
"Isaac." I turn to him. "Please don’t do this. Don’t make this situation worse than it already is."
"I’m making the situation worse? You’re the one who cheated on me."
"I—" I flinch, then lower my chin to my chest. "You’re right. I shouldn’t have acted on my impulses—"
"I don’t blame you. I’ll bet he didn’t make it easy for you. Bet he manipulated things so you had no choice but to constantly see him twenty-four-seven in his office, on the way to work, after work. And I wasn’t around, Lena. I know I should have spent more time with you and made sure you were settling in. I left you in a strange place on your own and went off."
"You were working on your art, Isaac."
"Art." He blows out a breath. "I’ve used it as a crutch, as a way to channel all of my frustrations and my sorrows. I’ve used it as an excuse for too long."
Well, great, now he comes to his senses, when it's too late.
"Isaac, I—"
"You don’t need to apologize. You don’t need to say anything. I don’t blame you. I really don’t."
"You should, Isaac. I was as much at fault as JJ. We both wanted each other… We still want each other." I force out the words through the ball of emotion that clogs my throat. I have to say it. I have to be upfront. No more hiding. No more pretending the connection between JJ and me doesn’t exist. It’s why I called Isaac here today, didn’t I? So I could be truthful with him.
Isaac’s shoulders tense. He squeezes his fingers around his beer bottle with enough force that the skin across his knuckles stretches white.
"I’m still not giving up on you, on us, Lena."
"Isaac, please, you—"
There’s a crash as pins tumble over. Isaac and I turn to find JJ raise his fist in his version of a fist pump. In other words, it’s a restrained, leashed gesture that has his biceps bulging. The muscles of his body are coiled. Excitement vibrates off of him. He spins around and his blazing dark eyes meet mine. "Strike."
