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He spun around with fire in his eyes. “Oh, you’re mean.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked innocently. “Is this environment more intense than a stadium with eighty thousand fans?”
He pointed at me as he walked back down to the seats. “Okay, that’s it. No mercy from this point forward.”
I hopped up and retrieved my ball. “Bring it on.”
For the next few frames, the two of us were locked in life-or-death combat. I called him names likeChrissy PrissyandWeak-wrist Chris.I wiggled my butt seductively while bowling. When I was done and we passed each other, I let my fingers drag across the front of his jeans in a gentle caress. A few frames later, while we were both sitting down next to each other, I outright grabbed his dick through his jeans and gave it a firm squeeze. To my immense disappointment, Christian bowledbetterwith a semi-erection.
We paused when the food and beer arrived. He shoved a French fry in my mouth, and I responded by smearing chili on his face. We laughed and drank our beer and had a great time.
“Okay, I surrender,” I said after the first game was over. “You destroyed me. I couldn’t even break seventy points.”
“Want some help?” he asked.
“I think the only help I need is to use the gutter-guards,” I said.
Christian picked up my bowling ball and hit the button to start a new game. “Come here. I’ll show you a small adjustment you can make that will help. Stand right here.”
I obeyed, accepting the ball from him. He put his hands on my hips, positioning me in just the right way facing the lane. I felt his body lean into mine, his arms wrapping around my own forearms, molding me into a certain stance.
“Like this,” he breathed into my ear. “Hold the ball here, in front of your face. Left foot ahead of your right. Good. Just like that.”
His grip lingered there on my body, a familiarity in his touch as if I belonged to him. The way a football player holds a piece of his equipment. Then he stepped back.
“Go ahead.”
I had to shake off the erotic nature of the interaction as I prepared to bowl. I stepped forward, lowered the ball, and then released. It rolled down the lane, almost perfectly straight, and struck the first pin.
“Strike!” I said, jumping up and down. “I can’t believe it worked!”
“You doubted me?” he teased.
“I doubted your intentions. I assumed you were doing that stupid thing you see in Hallmark movies, where the guy mansplains something to the girl, but like, in a sexy way as an excuse to touch her.”
Christian smiled. “That was my primary goal. But I’m glad the advice worked, too.”
We finished our pitcher of beer and the second game around the same time. Christian still beat me handily, but I bowled a respectable 109. As we left the bowling alley, a few fans called out to Christian to wish him luck on Sunday against the Tennessee Titans.
“Do you ever get sick of it?” I asked. “Being recognized everywhere you go?”
He smiled. “Never. At least, not yet. I’ve only been in the league four years. Maybe in another decade I’ll be sick of the attention.”
As soon as we stepped outside, Christian groaned. There was a truck parked over on the right, with the driver door open. It was dark outside, but the parking lot lights allowed us to see the photographer standing behind the car door, snapping photos of us with a telescopic lens.
“Nowthat’ssomething I’m sick of,” he muttered. “I wish I knew who leaked the info inside. And after I spent five minutes taking selfies with them.”
“Should I cover my face?” I asked.
He took me by the hand. “Only if you want to try to remain anonymous. Come on.”
Christian led me across the parking lot to his car while the photographer snapped away. We got inside and he quickly drove out of the parking lot.
“Well, that was a lot of fun!” I said. “Even ignoring the way it ended with the photographer.”
“The night’s not over, yet,” he said. “We have one more stop planned.”
“Where?”
