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Sally: What does that look like?
SlyBastard: Dates. Kissing. Hand holding. Exclusivity. Hopefully, nightly bouts of hot sex that leaves both of us sore and satisfied.
Wet. She was wet. Her body thrumming with need, she pressed her legs together under her desk. And it wasn’t just the thought of being satiated by Sly and his expert lovemaking. It was also the allure of the simple intimacies. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to hold a man’s hand, but now…she wanted to know what it would feel like to thread her fingers through Sly’s and have him squeeze her hand in his. His grip was tight, as though he never wanted to let her go.
Sally: Not just sex?
SlyBastard: I want a *real* chance, Sally. I want to see where this goes. I want to spend time with you, getting to know you, and letting you get to know me. I want to slap a big fat label on us, so every fucker in the state knows you’re mine.
Super WHOA! Tingles prickled her nipples as an ache began in her clit; his possessiveness and alpha-ness made all her lady parts scream, “hell yes, daddy!” Typically, aggressiveness was a turn-off—a consequence of living with an alpha-hole for too many years—but aggressiveness was hot as hell on Sly.
Sally: You’re not just saying that to get into my pants?
God, she sounded like a clueless idiot, but she had to be sure that he wasn’t just looking for a booty call. As a red-blooded, 21st century woman, she’d had her fair share of booty calls; men she’d call when the mood struck, most of the boy toys she’d met, wore out, then never saw again. But she didn’t want that with Sylvester. With him—dammit—she wanted more.
But how much more?
She ignored that question and held her breath, once more, waiting for his response.
SlyBastard: I’ve already been in your pants. Now, I want in your life.
Her heart tripped over itself at his response. Huh. Why was it so hard to swallow all of a sudden? Was that a ball of tears in her throat?
Sally: Well played, Sly.
SlyBastard: Does that mean you’ll let me take you out?
She paused, her thumbs hanging over the screen. Remembering what she’d promised Anna the day before, an idea struck her.
Sally: Meet me at Bowl-a-Rama at 7 tonight.
SlyBastard: As you wish.
She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face. Both an appropriate reply and a clever movie reference…. It appeared she might enjoy getting to know Sylvester White after all.
She just hoped she wasn’t making a mistake.
…she’s part of my past….Sly’s words played in a loop in her head as unbidden dread settled into her belly. Because after seeing Loni the night before, Sally wasn’t so sure the woman was keen on being Sly’s past anything.
Sylvester slammed his car door and peered up at the orange neon lights overhead that spelled out Bowl-A-Rama in flashing color.
Here goes nothing.
No. Not nothing. Everything. This could mean the beginning of something incredible. As long as he didn’t fuck it up.
She agreed to give you a chance. She agreed to exclusivity. She agreed to be yours.And, God, did that make his cock hard.
While he had no idea what Sally had planned, he was more than a little excited about it. Not just gorgeous but also intelligent and sensual and fiery, Sallina Mendez was a woman worth pursuing, and he was looking forward to their time together. Even if it was at a bowling alley.
Slipping his sunglasses into his jeans pocket, he strode toward the doors. He pulled them open before walking into noise, the scents of sweat and old cigarette smoke, and the sight of over a dozen lanes of brightly lit hardwood separated by U-shaped seating areas and white and chrome ball returns.
Dressed in a worn pair of black jeans that rode low on his lean hips, a black and red “Builders bang harder” t-shirt that stretched over his gym hewn chest and bicep muscles, and his most comfortable black biker boots, he knew he didn’t stick out quite as much as he would have if he came in his usual outfit of designer jeans, tailored button-down, and Ferragamo leather loafers. Hell, he knew he looked good in whatever he put on, but this was his chance to win Sallina, and that meant being himself. His real self. The self that grew up wearing jeans, t-shirts, Converse, and a lazy smile.
“Sly!” someone shouted, and he turned, surprised to see Blaze coming toward him, a massive grin on his face. Blaze slapped his shoulder and chuckled. “Anna bet Sally twenty bucks you wouldn’t come, but I knew better than to take that bet,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. The asshole probably knew from AJ that Sly was interested in Sally. Sometimes men gossiped worse than women, especially men on construction crews. They’d gab while eating lunch on their truck tailgates, like a knitting circle but with hammers instead of needles.
He shrugged, his own smile growing despite the annoyance at Anna making bets against him. “Why wouldn’t I come? I wouldn’t dare turn down an invitation to spend the evening with a beautiful woman…and a bowling ball.”
Blaze, chuckling, led Sly past the register and shoe retrieval counter, toward a lane on the left, just in front of the snack counter where a line ten deep was standing, waiting for their fried snacks and cold beers.
