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He drives along the river for a few blocks, silent. I can't tell if he's angry or hurt, and I almost apologize six times.
"I'm just offering advice," he says. "I'm not trying—"
"Do you get off on rescuing women and fixing their lives? I'm not judging. I'm just asking an honest question."
He parks in a nearly empty lot and turns to face me. "I'm not trying to white knight you, Dani."
I lean back in my seat to give myself some space. It's hard to think straight when he's so close and smiling at me like I'm being cute. "I'm glad you know what that is, because I need you not to do it, Grant. I'm capable and competent." At least I want very much to be both those things, but I can't if I always have someone helping me. "I don't want to be rescued."
He sighs. "I get that, Dani, but offering advice isn't rescuing. Offering to help you out with your sisters is just being a good boyfriend."
I stare at him. I want to address the boyfriend thing, but I need to clarify what I mean about his white knighting, which is hard when I'm not even totally sure what I mean. "It's not a problem if I ask you for help. If I said, 'I'm at a complete loss about what to do about my sisters, please offer advice', then you'd be totally in the right. But I didn't ask for help. I told you directly I don't need help. That's when you trust me to handle it."
He studies me for a long moment, like he's really absorbing what I'm telling him. "Okay. I can do that."
"Good. Now, what's this about me having a boyfriend?"
His smile makes my insides gooey. "Well, since I have a girlfriend, I figured it's only fair that you have a boyfriend."
"Right. Who's your girlfriend? It can't be me. I can't be your soul mate and your girlfriend."
His smile widens. "You'd like my girlfriend if you met her. She's a magnet for lost and damaged souls and she takes them all in, no matter how large or bovine they are. Her soul is big enough for multiple mates."
My throat gets oddly tight and my eyes burn. I look around the parking lot and take in the large, cinder block building next to it. A dilapidated sign stretches across most of the building spelling out Star-Crossed Lovers' Lanes in giant, purple letters. "You brought me to a bowling alley for our first date? You do realize I haven't eaten dinner and I'm starving, right?"
"There's food here. What better place to bring a Weston than somewhere we can make everything a competition?"
I turn to him, suspicious. He's acting way too excited about this, almost giddy. His smile is fond as he stares out at the rather run-down looking building next to the river. "You think you're going to beat me. You brought me to a bowling alley on our first date so you can out-compete and annoy me?"
He turns to me, smugness seeping in. "There's no competition unless you stand a real chance of losing, right?"
Damn it. I can't help my smile. He knows me. This guy doesn't just get me, he understands me. Heaven help me, I think he actually likes me for it. He might actually be my soul mate. I grin. "Let's play."
The bowling alley is nicer on the inside than the outside, but the food is just as bad as I expected. "How often do you come here?" I ask as our waitress, an older woman Grant not only knows by her first name but also the names and ages of all her grandkids, walks away after refilling our drinks.
He shrugs, his eyes sparkling with good humor. "Once or twice a week."
I stare. "Are you in a bowling league or something? Please tell me you don't just come here and play by yourself."
He's not insulted. "Sometimes I do. I've got to practice for the three leagues I'm on."
I laugh. "Three? Wow. I've never met anyone who likes bowling enough to join three bowling leagues." I look around at the place, just now filling with small groups of people. "What kind of town has three bowling leagues?"
"We take bowling seriously in Catalpa Creek. You done eating? Ready to bowl?"
"I was born ready, baby," I say, laying on the corniness.
Grant takes our trash to the nearest bin and we get our bowling shoes. Well, I get my bowling shoes. Grant has his own shoes and his own ball.
I laugh as he brings them all out. "If you were trying to impress me, I have to say it's working." It's weird how much it's working. I would never have guessed Grant has this side to him.
He grins and leans over to press a kiss to my lips. Warmth and lust zing through me and I follow him when he tries to pull away. The kiss deepens, his hand in my hair and cupping my head, and is getting downright steamy when a throat clears near us.
We look up to see an elderly couple standing in the seating area for our lane.
"This isn't a nightclub, Grant," the older man, with white hair bursting from his ears, says.
"Mind if we play with you?" the woman asks. She's tiny, with white hair, lined skin, and a joyful smile.
