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“Hit me with your best shot.”
“You bet,” he replied before picking a Pepto Bismol pink-colored ball. Instead of immediately putting his fingers in the holes, he stroked the surface. I don’t know how anyone could make stroking a bowling ball hot, but Noah could.
“Seriously?”
His brows shot up. “What can I say? I like pink.”
“Is that right?”
“Mm, hmm. Full pink lips, pink-tipped tits, and most of all a luscious pink pussy.”
My mouth gaped open at his words. After a shudder went through me, I protested, “I-I thought you s-said you were going to be good.”
“What’s wrong with stating facts?”
“You know what I mean.” After glancing around us, I grimaced. “I mean, there’s children three lanes down.”
“That didn’t seem to stop you from swaying your ass.”
“I’m regretting my choices now.”
He grinned like wolf. “Okay, okay. I’ll go bowl.”
With his pink ball in hand, Noah strode over to the lane. Sticking his ass out, he swished it back and forth. Throwing a glance over his shoulder at me, he had the audacity to wink.
“Spare me,” I grumbled.
“No spares. Just strikes, baby.” Then he threw the ball down the lane with perfect precision, resulting in a strike. “YES!” he bellowed while smacking his chest, causing the people next us to turn and stare.
He came back over to me and jerked a thumb at the screen. “Mark it.”
“I am, I am,” I muttered.
“Apparently, the ass swishing works for more than just you, huh?”
“You’re such an egomaniac.”
Noah dipped his head to where his breath fanned against my cheek. “Says the fellow egomaniac.”
“Whatever.” Planting my hands on his chest, I pushed him away. “You have to go again.”
“Go ahead and mark it as another strike.”
With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “Not until you actually make it, Douchelord.”
“I’m telling you. It’s a sure thing.” With a waggle of his brows, he added, “I’ma sure thing.”
I groaned. “Get over yourself.”
Chuckling, he took his pink ball and headed for the lane. Noah managed to get another strike again without swishing his ass at me. “Oh, it’s on, baby girl.”
Ignoring him, I rose out of my chair. With my blue ball in hand, I got into position at the lane. After adjusting myself into the exactly right position, I flung the ball down the floor. Somehow I misjudged the trajectory because it ended up leaving two pins. “Fuck,” I grunted in frustration.
A low whistle echoed behind me. “Not the dreaded splits, Resendiz,” Noah remarked.
Inhaling a ragged breath, I turned around to face him. “I’m aware of what it is.”
“I’m anxious to see how you handle it.” Motioning with his hands, he said, “Do you aim for the right or the left? Or do you just say ‘fuck it all, I know Noah’s going to beat me’ and just let it slide down the middle?”
