Chapter Eleven
Sadie
I’ve read too many books, because this isn’t what I was expecting when Bowie sent me the address for our date.
He had offered to pick me up, but I didn’t want him to know where I live, so I suggested meeting instead.
He sends me the address, and I don’t know what I had expected, maybe a street race or fight club, but it wasn’t this. An arcade.
He meets me at the front door with a kiss to my cheek.
He shrugs. “I spent my childhood at arcades. I figured this would be more fun than dinner and a movie. But we can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No, this is great,” I say with full sincerity. “But you should know that I’m incredible at bowling.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “I’ll need proof of that claim, Bella.”
He rests his hand on my lower back as I walk and keeps it there as he reserves a bowling lane for us.
We have thirty minutes before it’ll be ready, so he suggests we play some games.
As soon as he walks slightly ahead, I pull my phone out and shoot a quick text to James, telling him where we are.
He has my phone’s location, but he still wanted me to confirm where we ended up.
I wanted to argue at first, because he could blow my cover if he decided to show up in person.
Then he reminded me that June would go full spree-killer if something happened to me, and that’d really throw a wrench in my “protect June” plans.
“There’s no skill to these games,” Bowie grumbles as he loses a third pinball game in a row.
I laugh. “Sure there is. It’s all about hand-eye coordination.” I wave my fingers in the air then gesture at my much higher score.
“This is not a good test of hand-eye coordination.”
“No? What would you say is?”
Apparently, Bowie thinks the miniature basketball games are the ultimate test to that skill, and after watching him sink several baskets in a row, I must admit he might be right.
When it’s my turn, I purposefully miss a few shots, then dramatically throw my arms out.
“No one ever taught me basketball!” I lie.
In reality, I was the starting point guard on my high school team.
But like a starving catfish, Bowie swallows my bait, hook, line, and sinker.
“Here,” he says, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
He places his hands over mine and guides them so they properly hold the basketball, then slowly leads me through the motion of aiming and throwing the ball.
This time, it flies easily through the hoop.
I let out a carefully controlled shriek of joy and turn around to hug him.
When I pull away, my cheeks are properly red from embarrassment.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“De nada.”
Then I turn and start another round of the game, making half the shots.
It’s all so sickeningly cliché romance that I’m honestly shocked it works.
But even the biggest, baddest bullies on the playground can be reduced to one-dimensional characters if you dangle the possibility of carnal pleasure in front of them.
And Bowie may like confident women, but guys like him will always turn feral at the chance of corrupting a blushing girl.
His hunger is already obvious as we make our way to the bowling lane, where there are drinks waiting for us. I let my skirt lift when I bowl and saunter back to him after each round, flicking my eyelashes.
“You weren’t kidding. You are good,” he says halfway through the game. Our scores are neck-and-neck, and he wins by two points without me having to let him.
“Damn, dude. Do you play in a league or something?”
“Like I said, lots of time in arcades growing up.” He reaches for me, grabbing my wrist to pull me closer. His hands circle my middle, and I have to look up to hold eye contact. “What’s your excuse?”
“My brother was in a league. He loved bossing me around, so I let him teach me whatever he wanted.”
“I’m assuming he’s a teacher now?”
“I said I let him teach me, not that he was good at it.” Honestly, the thought of Will teaching the youth of tomorrow anything is horrifying.
“What does he do?” He shifts minimally closer, his fingers traveling lower down my back.
I pause, wondering if I should lie. I don’t want to make it easier for him to look into me.
I started a fake Instagram and had Maple add a backlog of posts and followers so it looks like it’s been active for years, rather than three days, but I doubt that’ll satisfy him.
And it won’t be hard for him to make the connection if he really tries.
When that day comes, the fewer lies I’ve told, the better. “He’s a stunt double.”
“Really?”
“He’s always been great at taking a beating.”
“Why would anyone need to be good at that?”
I drop my eyes from his face. “It’s the nature of being drawn to the darker sides of humanity.” Before he can respond, I clear my throat and plaster on a smile. “Rematch?”
After I snatch a win in the second game, we play best two out of three, and Bowie walks away the champion.
I pretend not to notice the oddly stiff group of guys playing three lanes down who keep shooting us looks, and I let my passing touches linger longer as the night goes on.
He suggests continuing the night at a cocktail bar ten minutes away, and I hesitate.
Getting in the car with him may not be smart, but I want this to seem like an average date. Besides, James has my location.
So, I agree and text our destination to James on the way. At the bar, Bowie keeps buying me drinks. When my brain starts feeling fuzzy, I switch to water, reminding myself that this guy is incredibly dangerous, even if he is easy to talk to.
Half an hour later, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
Once locked inside a stall, I pull the little phone James gave me out of my pocket and check the Bluetooth for discoverable devices.
I scan the names. There’s no Bowie, so I decide to connect to all of them, hoping that at least one belongs to one of his guys.
My finger freezes over the screen when I see “James’s iPhone. ”
“What the fuck?”
I reach for my phone and am in the middle of typing out a text when the bathroom door opens and someone knocks on my stall door.
“Occupied.”
“I know.”
The voice goes straight to my arteries, filling them with irritation. I unlock the stall and throw it open. James is leaning against the counter, watching me with thin lips.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, voice low.
“Why would you go to a second location with him?”
“It’s a date, not a kidnapping.”
“You’re falling all over that psychopath,” he says, disdain in each word.
“Okay, maybe you’ve never been on a date, but this is how people act.”
“He’s feeling you up.”
“Good. That means it’s working.”
He pushes away from the counter, moving closer. “Excuse me?”
“Did you think I’d go on one date then have all their secrets? I need him to like me enough to ask me out again.”
“How many dates are you planning to go on with this guy?”
“As many as it takes to get close enough for some helpful information.”
James shakes his head. “This isn’t going to work. It’s too dangerous. After tonight, you’ll tell him you’re not interested. We’ll figure something else out.”
“I know I’m nice, but that doesn’t make me a doormat. You can’t order me around.”
“Come on, Sadie—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I’m doing this. You can either get on board or back the hell off. Now, I’m going back to my date. You better not let him see you leave.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job cosplaying as one.”
He rubs a hand down his face and beard. While he’s formulating a response, I seize the opportunity to walk away, slipping out of the bathroom before he can stop me.
Back at the bar, I apologize to Bowie, but he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with how long I was gone.
Nothing has changed, but I’m more aware of how often he touches me.
His knee slots between my legs. He tucks a strand of black hair behind my ear and trails his fingers down my collar bone.
His eyes drop to my cleavage so often that I can almost feel it.
I try to encourage him with my own body language, but I can’t stop thinking about James.
Is he still here? Is he watching this? The idea makes me want to both shove Bowie away and pull him closer.
After his phone rings for the fifth time in half an hour, he suggests we leave. “I’m sorry about this,” he says on the drive back to my car at the arcade. “Work can be demanding.”
I don’t point out that we’ve been out for close to four hours, which is a long first date in my book, or how weird it is to be working when it’s close to midnight.
Instead, I say, “I understand. What do you do, by the way?” Somehow, we’ve made it the entire night without bringing up either of our professions.
I imagine that was an intentional choice on his part.
“I run the family business. It can be time-consuming.”
“What’s the family business? Saving people? Hunting things?”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“It’s a TV show.”
“Oh. Well, we’re in sales and investing. I promise, it’s not interesting.”
“You’d be surprised what I find interesting.”
He looks sideways at me, smirking. “I actually don’t doubt that.”
“We’ve all got to make life interesting somehow.”
“What if it gets too interesting?”
I shake my head. “Not possible. Not if you do it right.”
He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s trying to interpret any hidden meanings in my words or if he expects me to be too much of a cardboard goodie-two-shoes to have hidden meanings. I wait for him to ask what I do for work, but he never does.
Back at the arcade, he walks me to my car and lingers.
I’m about to mumble some bullshit about it being a good night and we should hang out again, but I don’t get the chance before he’s grabbing my sides and dropping his lips to mine.
I don’t allow myself a moment of hesitancy before returning the kiss.
I curve my back, because men love that shit.
I should probably wrap my hands around his neck, but they stay firmly rooted to my sides, even when Bowie slides his tongue into my mouth.
My throat burns, like vomit is fighting to crawl up it, and icy fingernails of discomfort dig into my spine. The desperate urge to break the kiss makes my neck sweat, and I open my lips in an attempt to ignore it.
Without warning, an image of James’s scowling face, angry green eyes, and pressed lips fills the back of my eyelids.
My imagination takes over and it becomes James in front of me, not Bowie.
James’s rough hands shoving me back until I hit my car.
James’s mouth prying my mouth open. James’s hips grinding forward to show just how into this kiss he is.
I moan. Then he groans, “Fuck, bella. You’re sexy,” and my fantasy shatters. I pull back before I can think better of it.
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize, bella," Bowie says. “I should be apologizing for leaving.”
“It’s okay.” I force a smile, even though my mind has fallen into turmoil. “Now we have something to look forward to.”
Bowie gives me one more quick kiss before leaving. I unlock my door and jump into the car, replaying the last five minutes. The overwhelming desire that coursed through me when I pictured James there, ready to devour me.
Fuck.
This is going to complicate things.