“I haven’t been bowling since I was probably six,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I’d embarrass myself.”
Aileen paused. “You’ve never been bowling as an adult?”
He shrugged, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.
She grinned. “Just hang around. I’ve got a plan that will rock your world.”
Chapter Sixteen
Killian wasn’t sure how bowling in an empty alley constituted rocking his world, but it was fun as hell.
Aileen, as it turned out, was friendly with the owner. She’d been coming here since she was a kid, the guy told him while Aileen went to the restroom. Family friend. He had no problem leaving her behind and letting her lock up on her way out.
With goofy-looking shoes on his feet, his jeans rolled up to keep from getting caught in the heel, and a polyester polo shirt with bowling pins stitched on the breast—borrowed from the pro shop, as per Aileen’s instructions—he felt like an idiot. He looked like an idiot. But Aileen had simply grinned and said he was perfect. And that had made his heart jump. Stupid, because it was probably her way of kidding around. Just the reminder though of those deep blue eyes assessing him from top to bottom, nodding once sharply and declaring him to be perfect made his insides clench.
She returned, arms by her sides, weighed down by two bowling balls. She waddled just a little when she walked, which he found cute.
“Here are two different sizes and weights. Try the finger holes and see which one works better.”
He tried as she demonstrated, putting his middle two fingers and thumb through the three holes, leaving his index and pinky fingers on either side. “Too small.” He had to wiggle to get his hand free.
“Then this should be perfect.” Taking the other one away, she rolled the second toward him gently. He tried again, and found the fit comfortable but tight. No slipping, but no sticking, either. As far as he knew, it was probably good.
“How are those holes working out?” She bent over and pulled on his hand, judging how easily his fingers came free. “Looks good. You want it to be tight, but not so tight you can’t release. You don’t want the hole to feel like it’s sucking your finger in.”
At that unintentionally erotic phrasing, he chuckled. Aileen’s neck flushed, but she kept her eyes averted and swatted at his leg. “Stop that.”
“You started it, talking about tight holes.”
Her gaze snapped to his, scowling at him. “Knock it off or I’ll lock you in here.” She pressed a few buttons on the computer and entered their names as the players. The machine on the end sprang to life, lighting up and setting down ten pins. As the rest of the alley was dark, including the front desk area and the snack bar, the glow from their screen and lane lit up an eerily tight space of the hall.
“Bowling for ghosts,” he muttered. She laughed, then picked up her ball. It was a custom one, obviously, as it had her name airbrushed with a pen. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”
She glanced at it. “Online. You want one?” She grinned wickedly. “We could get a cute little teddy bear throwing a football or something.”
He smacked her ass hard enough to echo in the empty alley. She just laughed and lined up.
“You start here, with your toes on these arrows.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. “You’re right handed like me, so you’ll just do exactly what I do. Start with this foot . . .” Trailing off, she took a few steps, a back swing, then let the ball go effortlessly. It rolled down the lane until it knocked over nine pins with a startling clatter. The tenth wobbled, and he held his breath, but it righted itself.
She watched, not turning around until the arm of the machine lowered to remove the downed pins. “That’s all. Pretty simple.”
He glared. “If you do this all the time, how come you only knocked down nine?”
He worried she might be offended by the question, but laughed instead. “I’m not great. Better than your average ‘show up once in a blue moon’ bowler, but I’m not great. Sadly, this is my best sport. You’ve seen how pathetic I am at cardiovascular feats. I’m more of a spectator and reporter rather than a doer.”
He couldn’t tell if she was being honest, or self-deprecating. Either way, he could tell she wasn’t as fancy as some of the other bowlers he’d watched during league play. They had crazy windups, wicked spins, and some had almost comical footwork. Hers was a straightforward approach. Nothing fancy, just getting the ball down the lane time after time.
“Okay then.” He waited for her to bowl her second time, counting the steps and watching when she released the ball. The timing of the release seemed to be the key. The final pin didn’t stand a chance as the ball hit it head-on. After she was finished, he stood and grabbed his ball.