Authors: Michele Zurlo
The silence in the room testified to the level of shock. This was a band they idolized.
“Lacey,” Gavin said, “I want to kiss you.”
Dylan shot him a black look. “She has a boyfriend.”
Daisy laughed. “He was kidding.”
Not wanting to continue down this road, I resumed the discussion. “Also, you have inquiries from three recording companies. Do you have a preference for who you want to meet and when? Or do you want to go indie and cut the tracks yourself?”
I outlined the companies and my research on each. The meeting went on for another hour, falling apart when Monty arrived from track practice. He was starving, and Daisy wanted to have dinner ready when Audra got home.
We hadn’t resolved anything. I felt like making an executive decision, but I couldn’t. Whether to go with an established company or go it alone wasn’t a choice I could make for them. My job was to manage the choices they made.
Dylan walked me outside. Our relationship had changed a lot in the last couple weeks since we’d established a safe, neutral zone, and our friendship flourished. “Gavin and I are taking Monty bowling tonight. Want to come?”
I threw my bag into the backseat of my car. “I haven’t been bowling in forever. I suck.”
He shrugged. “On a good day, I can bowl a one-forty. I’m no pro bowler either. It’s just for fun. Monty’s going to kick all our asses anyway.”
“Can Luma come? I’m supposed to hang out with her tonight.” I knew Luma wouldn’t mind bowling with the guys. I suspected she was developing a crush on Gavin. She still said she only liked African-American men, but I didn’t believe her.
“Sure. Thomas isn’t in town?”
I shook my head. We had our sixth date scheduled for this weekend, and I was nervous as hell about sleeping with him. I hadn’t been with a real man in more than two years.
“I’ll see him Saturday. He’s flying me to Hartford.” I’d see his house for the first time. Opening the driver’s side door, I threw my purse across to the passenger side. The seat was littered with junk from both jobs. “I’ll call Luma. Text me the when and where, and I’ll see you there.”
Dylan grinned and held the door while I got inside. “Rhymes like that are why
I
write the lyrics.”
As I drove away, I reflected on how much I liked the way our relationship had changed. Undercurrents of “what if” were gone. I no longer wondered if he was going to kiss me or make a move. I knew he wouldn’t, though I wasn’t always so sure about myself. The electricity between us hadn’t lessened, but I was a champion at ignoring it.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regularly check him out, though. I couldn’t help it. When that much hotness is thrust into your face, I dare you not to look.
Chapter Fifteen
W
HEN
L
UMA
A
ND
I A
RRIVED
at the designated place, we immediately got lost. The bowling alley I’d been to a handful of times growing up had eighteen lanes. This one boasted two hundred, and they were all in full swing. The place smelled of leather and sweat, and it was jam-packed with people.
Dylan finally found us near the entrance and led us to a counter where a woman with exactly one tooth in her lower jaw asked for my shoe size. Or at least, I think that’s what she wanted. After deciding I wasn’t sure, I asked, “What?”
The song blaring over the loudspeaker was temporarily suspended while someone at the grill informed lane 157 that their chili dogs were ready for pickup.
Dylan coughed and leaned against the counter. “What’s your shoe size?”
“Seven.”
He shouted my answer to the woman. She nodded and threw a pair of tattered bowling shoes onto the plastic-coated surface. Something inside me recoiled at wearing shoes that had housed thousands of sweaty feet before mine.
Luma of the Munchkin Feet asked for a size five. She carried both pairs of shoes as we followed Dylan past a lot of colorful people. By colorful, I mean their tattoos. Their clothing was mostly black, which highlighted the colors swirling on arms and legs, peeking from the necks of shirts, and creeping up to decorate places where hair used to be. I wanted to stop and study, turn up the lights so I could see everything better.
I stared so much that Dylan put his arm around my waist to keep me moving. He leaned down to admonish me. “Lacey, people don’t like to be stared at.”
“But it’s so pretty. I think I’m a little turned on.”
He stumbled, taking me with him, but he recovered for both of us. “I have a tattoo.”
My full attention snapped to him. I’d seen him shirtless and in shorts, but I hadn’t seen any body art. “Where?”
A shit-eating smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Secret.”
Oh, Lord. Do not tell me he has ink on his dick. I’m not sure how I feel about that. “Did it hurt?”
“Of course it hurt. It’s a tattoo. I’m thinking of getting one on my arm. Something cool to ring my bicep.”
It took an act of will to not drool. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen what I want. I might design it myself.”
“I meant the one on your ass.”
He grinned. “I never said it was on my ass.”
“Upper thigh?”
His grin didn’t go away, but his arm tightened around me, and he feathered his fingers along my hip. I noticed the move, but I didn’t draw attention to it. “I said it’s a secret. You’d have to see me naked.”
Luma snorted, reminding us we weren’t alone. I walked dangerously close to the edge by flirting with Dylan.
I removed his hand from my hip. “Some other time, then. Can you tell me what it is?”
He also dropped his coy demeanor. “It’s a rosebud, and it has my parents’ initials in it. Daisy has a matching one. We got them when our parents died.”
That’s so sweet. I wondered if he also had something to commemorate his late wife.
We finally made it to the lanes they’d reserved. Gavin threw me an ugly button-down shirt. “You’re on Dylan’s team. Luma and I are going to clean the lanes with your sorry asses.”
I hadn’t known there’d be teams. Monty was also on our team, as were three people I didn’t know. Four additional people—all strangers to me—rounded out Gavin’s team. The twelve of us had two lanes.
Dylan shrugged into a shirt matching the one Gavin tossed me.
“I programmed your names into the scoring machine already,” Gavin said. “You’re late, so we used up your practice shots.”
“Hey,” Luma protested.
Monty cruised up to the table, put down a huge plastic cup with a red-and-brown swirl of frozen soda inside, and leaned on Dylan’s shoulder. “You snooze, you lose. If you hadn’t shown up now, we’d be fighting over who got to take your turns.”
I looked to Dylan for confirmation. He shrugged. “It’s true. Put on your bowling shoes, ladies, and prepare to lose.”
“We’re on the same team,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right. In that case, hurry up. It’s your turn.”
I truly did not want to put those shoes on my feet. Dylan must have interpreted my expression to mean I’d be in the bathroom all night washing my hands if I had to touch them. He knelt on the floor, removed my shoes, and replaced them with the rented ones.
For ten full seconds, I seriously considered switching from washing my hands incessantly to washing my feet.
Because he was so close, I leaned forward to say something without anybody overhearing. I caught the scent of his spicy aftershave mixed with whatever he’d used on his hair.
“Dylan?”
He still had my foot propped against his knee. Without glancing up, he said, “Yeah?”
“Thank you for putting all that business behind us. I like having you as a friend.”
His hand paused on my ankle, and he lifted his gaze to meet mine. I expected an apology, but all I got was a bit of a cocky smirk.
“I haven’t put anything behind me. This thing you have with Thomas will never work out. You’re from different worlds. You have very different interests and very little chemistry. There’s nothing holding you together but your stubbornness and his discerning eye. You’re a very beautiful woman, definitely arm-candy material.”
I gaped at him, stunned. “I have feelings for Thomas, and he has feelings for me.”
He shrugged. “You like him, but that’s all. It’s very platonic.” Then he leaned closer, and his lips almost brushed my ear. “I notice everything about you, Lace. The way your breathing speeds up when I’m this close to you. The way you undress me with your eyes. One day you’ll figure out you can’t fight fate.”
With my palm planted firmly on his chest, I pushed him away. “I don’t believe in fate.”
That was not a lie. If fate existed, I must have done some pretty horrible things in a past life. Dylan finished with my shoes, but his superior look didn’t diminish.
We began bowling, and I performed as expected: two gutter balls in a row. I was off to a rocking start. Monty shook his head, and Luma outright razzed me. The seven strangers didn’t comment, which was good. They didn’t know me. It was polite to wait until I was out of earshot before denigrating my character.
The next time my turn came around, Dylan went with me. He walked me through the approach, what to do with my arms, and how to aim. His demeanor had reverted back to friendly, and I was grateful. I could almost pretend he’d never said those things to me. After knocking down my first pin, I whiffed the second attempt.
Gavin poured me a beer from the community pitcher. “Here. This might improve your aim.”
I accepted the cup. “It certainly can’t hurt.”
It took a few frames, but I did eventually manage to hit one or two pins consistently. Once I even got nine, but I’d stumbled at the line and fallen on my ass, so that score was due more to providence—not fate—than the emergence of talent. The two cups of beer I consumed on an empty stomach were likely a factor as well.
I ended the first game with a score of 45. Luma got 98. Gavin and Dylan both came in over 135, and Monty bowled 203. Dylan had said the kid was going to win.
As we waited between games for people to raid the grill and get refills on the beer, I sat next to Dylan and willed my head to stop spinning.
“I need to eat.”
“I know. I sent Luma and Gavin over to get you something. Why didn’t you tell me you hadn’t eaten?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry.”
My lips felt tingly. I knew it was from the alcohol, but with Dylan sitting next to me looking and smelling so invitingly masculine, I had trouble convincing my mouth it didn’t want to be connected to Dylan’s.
He isn’t right about my relationship with Thomas
, I told myself.
He can’t be
.
As I wrestled with the demons of attraction, I noticed a man a few lanes down. Medium height, tubby in the middle, ink-covered arms, and yellow button-down shirt. The shirt drew my attention. He was the only one in two lanes, and his friends hadn’t left in pursuit of food and beverages; they’d never been there. He was playing both lanes himself.
As I watched, he held the ball in his hands and brought it close to his face. Then his lips moved. He spoke to it, whispering who-knew-what. Then he puckered up and smacked his lips right on that ball.
“He’s kissing his balls.”
Dylan looked at me funny. “What?”
“That man.” I indicated without pointing or looking directly.
It took Dylan a few moments to cull him from the crowd. “Yellow shirt?”
“Yep. Watch him. He kisses his balls.”
Sure enough, he did it again. I giggled. I couldn’t help myself. Dylan tried to suppress his laughter, but the more I pealed, the harder he had to fight. I laughed so hard that people stared, and I almost toppled onto the floor. Dylan grabbed my arm to keep me seated.
Monty returned. He gave me the same look Dylan had. “What’s wrong with her?”
I motioned him closer. What I had to say needed to be whispered. “That man is kissing his balls.”
First he looked at me like I was crazy. Then he turned to find I was speaking the truth. He snorted. “Lacey, you’re funny. I like you. When you and the old man here get married, I’m going to hang at your house a lot.”
That sobered me. I looked to Dylan for an explanation, but he merely flashed that same cocky smirk and shrugged. I was on the verge of telling him to set Monty straight when my phone rang. As it was my mother, I picked up.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
The sound of balls hitting pins, the laughter and chatter of patrons, and the music blaring over the speakers made her impossible to hear. I couldn’t make out what she said. Everything seemed garbled. Immediately my anxiety level went through the roof.
“Hold on, Mom. Let me get to a quieter place.” I looked around, but there were people everywhere. Quiet bowling alleys were found only on ESPN.
I hurried toward the entrance and stepped outside. I hoped to hell she’d called to convince me to have German chocolate cake with her and not tell John. “Okay, go ahead.”