“I had stuff. Team meeting. Sorry.” He looked around, then sighed and shoved the glasses up over his head. “Dark in here.”
“Part of the ambiance. Haven’t you been bowling before?” He shrugged one shoulder, which made her wonder if that was a yes, or a no. “I’ve just got one game left. If you don’t want to stay, it won’t hurt my feelings.”
Yes, it will.
But that wasn’t his problem.
“I’ll stay. I’ve never seen a bowling league in action.” He looked around and pointed to an empty seat. “Can I sit here, or is there a special spectator’s section?”
She slapped his arm. “Don’t be sarcastic. Yes, you can sit there. Don’t distract me, and don’t embarrass me.”
As he cocked a brow in question, she just grinned and walked over to the ball return. Ernie was waiting.
“That your boyfriend?”
She didn’t look over her shoulder. “Just a guy. Don’t worry about him.”
Duty bound to ignore the request, Ernie looked over her shoulder and waved at Killian. Aileen groaned and picked up her ball. Al and Carol were still discussing—fighting—her last missed opportunity in the previous frame and didn’t even notice they had been joined by someone else. They probably wouldn’t, as they were typically more concerned with each other than anyone else around them. But Ernie . . .
“Okay, look, he’s the subject of a piece I’m doing. It’s for work. Please don’t make it awkward?”
Ernie shook his head. “Someone for work is showing up to cheer you on at league? Doesn’t seem all that professional.”
“He’s not . . . I mean, he is, but . . . it’s complicated,” she finished. “Now scoot so I can take my turn.” She waited for Ernie to slide over so she could pick up her bowling ball. The custom-made ball fit her fingers like a glove, and the design she’d asked for always made her smile, even on her crappiest days.
As she took her spot on the line, she breathed in once, closed her eyes, and let the breath out in a slow, controlled motion. When her eyes opened again, the world had narrowed to ten white pins, and the long alley to get there. Knees bent, she took her approach and took the shot, doing a mental fist pump when she saw all ten pins crash down. Doing the actual fist pump would be more her style . . . but Killian was watching and she’d be damned if she made this an even dorkier experience than it had to be.
Ernie gave her a quick nod of approval and a pat on the back, and both Carol and Al pulled their heads up long enough to give her some acknowledgement. She lifted one shoulder in a no big deal gesture, then walked back to Killian. Except it was a big deal for her. She was okay, but she wasn’t amazing. Every strike was a reason to celebrate.
“Nice shootin’, Freckles.” He moved over an inch so she could sit beside him. Their thighs brushed on the plastic chairs that gave no room and even less comfort. “When you said bowling league, I thought you were kidding, to be honest. This is serious stuff.”
“It can be. The league ranges in people who are in it more for the beer and the companionship than the game, and those who are ready to sign up for their pro card and start grabbing sponsors.”
“And where do you fall?”
“I’m more toward the beer-and-companionship side.” He stretched and laid his long arm across the back of her chair, forearm brushing her neck. It wasn’t a move, she knew. The sitting area was just too small for comfort. They were bound to touch. Which of course, didn’t explain why the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and said yes, please, more of that. “I do like the social aspect. It’s why I started in the first place. It was something to do that would force me to not be thinking about work all the time. But then . . .” She held up her hands, let them fall back into her lap, and grinned. “It became about the game. My parents and I played a lot when I was a kid. Then they died, and I stopped.”
He was quiet for a moment. The sound of pins clattering and jovial conversation surrounded them, but in their tiny corner of the building, it was as if the world around them had been muffled. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It’s been a while, but thanks. Anyway, I stopped playing for a bit, and got tied up in work and things. Then one day I was sitting around with nothing to do, feeling sorry for myself that my career wasn’t going the way I’d hoped, and I was looking at this photo of my parents and . . .” She shook her head. “This is a silly story.”
“Not silly. Keep going,” he encouraged easily, sounding sincere.