Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
HANNAH GRACE
F alling back into the routine of teasing—of that push, pull banter that made up my relationship with Cole—is easy. Too easy.
And no matter how many warnings I give myself, it’s as effortless as breathing.
“These are loaded fries?” Cole asks and lifts a fry covered in the thick white gravy.
Pinheadz has two types of the delicious appetizer. One is the more traditional version with cheese, sour cream, bacon, and jalape?os. But they also have the second variety that is my favorite.
I lift a fry as well.
“Loaded Elvis fries,” I explain.
I can already predict he’ll love them even if he’s never had them. Zach and I discovered them our first time here a couple of years ago.
“You okay?” I lean against Zach, who has been silent during most of our time at the bowling alley.
Not surprising given how shy he is, and it’s my fault for excluding him from the conversation.
“Yeah.” He leans forward and snags a couple of fries with a pile of shredded cheese and pops them into his mouth.
He gestures to the fries as he chews, and I take the hint and snag another piece of one of the reasons that keeps us coming back here.
The burst of the gravy and sharpness of the cheddar cheese is one of my favorite combinations.
“Mmm,” I moan, closing my eyes to savor the goodness.
When I open them again, there’s a deep burn in Cole’s brown eyes that turns the color to an amber hue that makes swallowing suddenly difficult.
“W-what do you think? About the fries.” I clarify my question quickly.
“I think I haven’t had Elvis fries in years. These are pretty good.” He snags a few fries and swipes them through the gravy before shoveling the mass into his mouth.
Between Zach and Cole, I have to hold my own for my share of the fries, and most of our conversation dies down in lieu of working through the plate of fries. Before long, the plate and our glasses are empty.
“Ready to bowl?” I ask the guys.
Zach nods.
“Let’s do it,” Cole says.
Like I had told Cole, it still isn’t too busy and we get a lane right away. Cosmic bowling is now well under way, the black light creating a neon glow to the colors as music thumps through the speakers. After switching our shoes, we each find a ball we like and start. After the first few frames, I have the strong desire to bow out as both Zach and Cole are evenly matched and do far better than I do.
Zach sits next to me and bumps my shoulder with his now that his turn is done and Cole is up.
“You’re doing pretty good.”
I snort a laugh.
“Yeah, I handle third place well.”
He laughs.
“No gutter ball frames though. That’s a personal best for you.”
I stick out my tongue just as the sound of the ball hitting all the pins reverberates down our lane. The screen above our lane plays a cartoon that ends with a giant X on the screen as Cole saunters back in our direction.
His eyes lock with mine across the lane, and the memory of our last trip to the lanes in Devil Falls swims to the surface.
A kiss for every strike .
Time slows as he closes the distance, and I slick my tongue along my dry lips. Maybe I should order a water.
“You ready, Hannah Grace?” he asks and my breathing shallows.
I stand on legs that have the consistency of Jell-O.
“R-ready?”
“It’s your turn.” He nods toward the end of the lane where the pins all stand at attention once more.
“Oh.”
Why am I suddenly disappointed that that’s what he meant?
“Nice strike, man,” Zach says, reaching out a fist for Cole to bump.
I should be happy that Zach and Cole are hanging out.
I shouldn’t be thinking about what it would be like to kiss Cole Strickland again.
Giving Cole—and my own traitorous body—a wide berth, I grab my ball and line up my shot only to witness my ball immediately find the gutter.
“You got this, HG!”
I take a deep breath and release it as I wait at our ball return for the bright pink ball to come back.
“Don’t forget to line up on the dots,” Zach says from behind me as I pick up my ball, startling me.
I spin around, nearly dropping the ball at our feet.
“Whoa.” Zach moves closer, grasping the ball and holding it in place with one hand.
“Sorry.”
“You got this. Remember how I taught you to line up on the dots back here so you can aim on the arrows when you get ready to release.”
After a few times of bowling with me, Zach had taken it upon himself to teach me the game. I was better, but nowhere near his or Cole’s level.
I nod.
“Yeah.”
“Show me what you got.” He winks.
Squaring my shoulders, I shift the ball and turn toward the lane.
“Don’t forget the dots.”
I stop and look down at my feet, lining up where Zach had taught me before. Feet in place, I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and picturing the lane in front of me.
Be one with the ball .
Is bowling meditation a thing? Maybe it should be.
Focus!
I release the breath I’ve been holding and open my eyes before I count off my steps to the line.
“One…two…three.”
My fingers loosen their grip and the ball rolls forward. I freeze, too afraid to move and break my concentration that is just as much guiding the ball toward that center pin as the aim when I released it. The ball continues to roll in slow motion, closing the distance in a wobbly path forward.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmur, my muscles tightening as I wait until the ball connects, and like dominoes, the pins fall one at a time until nothing else remains.
“Wooo! Go, HG!” Zach rushes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me as he spins me on the slick wooden floor.
“Zach, put me down!” I laugh, thrilled to have the little slash that tells me I got a spare.
Our neighboring bowler smiles at us as Zach carts me down into the waiting area before releasing me.
“Good job.” The words are quiet, but cut through the noise as Cole holds out a fist just like Zach did earlier.
His dark brown gaze locks with mine, and the heat is still there from earlier, but there’s something else. Anger? Jealousy? Maybe a mix of both as his attention shifts to Zach—and where his hand still rests on my waist—for a heartbeat before coming back to me.
A shiver works its way down my spine as my fist connects to Cole’s.
“Are you cold?” Zach asks, moving closer to me.
“A little.” I chafe my hands up and down my arms to rub away the gooseflesh that has rippled across them.
But not from cold. From an awareness of the man standing in front of me.
“Here.” Cole shrugs out of the lightweight jacket he’s wearing and offers it to me.
“I’m okay,” I start to protest.
Cole shakes his finger, waving the jacket closer to me. The spicy scent of whatever cologne he wears clings to the fabric, and suddenly my denial dies on my lips.
I reach out, gripping the soft fabric and shrugging into it.
“Thanks,” I say and take my seat back on the hard plastic chair.
“You’re up,” Cole reminds Zach with a nod toward the screen.
“Show me how it’s done, Nolan,” I tease Zach.
He smiles at my teasing, and the awkward moment that just happened starts to fade slightly.
“I think maybe the student has become the master, grasshopper,” he fires back before turning toward the lane.
The atmosphere shifts as Cole and I trade remarks and Zach and I tease each other through the rest of the first game and most of the second. Cole even congratulates Zach when he wins the first game which gives me hope that they’ll become friends too. Or at least make it less awkward.
I’d settle for that at least.
Zach grabs the soda he ordered at the beginning of the second game and slurps the dregs through the straw.
“Having fun?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding.
“You sound surprised.”
Cole rolls his first ball, and six of the pins tumble to the shiny wooden floor.
“I didn’t think this would be as much fun having your bodyguard tag along. But he seems okay.”
“Yeah,” I say and reach for my own soda to avoid saying anything else.
Because Cole is okay . Once upon a time he was my best friend before he was my boyfriend. And we seem to have fallen back into that same rhythm as friends.
I just wish he didn’t still have the impact he does on me. If he was attractive before, he’s lethal now. His body looks like it’s been carved from granite without him being some muscle-bound gym bro. He carries himself with a confidence and an awareness that didn’t used to be there, and the five o’clock shadow he always has no matter what time of day it is makes my palms itch to feel the whiskers against my skin.
And that isn’t the only part of me that tingles with that need.
Mind out of the gutter, girl .
I wasn’t going to act on any of these tingles. Cole had broken my heart once before, and I was well aware of how to finish the statement that involved fooling me twice.
“I’m gonna run to the restroom.” Zach’s words bring me back to the present, and I release the straw that has sat empty in my mouth for the last several moments.
“Okay.”
He squeezes my shoulder as he passes me. Stifling a yawn—look at party animal me out until almost eight—I shift my attention back to Cole who has just released his second ball.
The four pins never stood a chance.
He spins, that lopsided grin I remember so well curving his lips as he swaggers toward me.
“Nice job,” I tell him as he gets closer.
“Thanks. You’re up.”
I glance at the screen for our scores. With Cole’s last frame he has Zach edged slightly out, and my seventy-three points are a pittance in comparison to the two.
I sigh. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“It’s not the electric chair. It’s supposed to be fun,” he reminds me.
“It’s probably more fun if you get a strike every once in a while.” I gesture to the screen, my own natural competitiveness coming to the surface when faced with several of the x’s for both Cole and Zach.
“Do you want my advice?”
I shrug. “It can’t make me worse, right?”
He barks out a laugh. “I doubt it.”
“Then sure.”
“You’re not releasing the ball at the right time so you’re losing your momentum.”
“Huh?”
“Walking from where you set up to releasing the ball should be one fluid motion. You’re stopping when you reach the line and then swinging your arm.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”
I’ve bowled enough that I’m familiar with the basics of the game, but based on his words, he might as well be speaking Greek.
“Not quite.”
“Ugh. I thought you said you were going to help me?”
I throw up my arms and head for the ball holder, grabbing my glowing pink ball. Finding the finger holes, I lift the ball and back up, running into the solid wall of muscle.
“I am trying to help you,” he says, his hands gripping my arms lightly.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Glancing up over my shoulder, I crane my neck to look up at him.
Even this close, his eyes are cast in shadow with the black light set up the way that it is.
“I’ll show you.”
He guides us to the two dots I’ve been lining up with, closing the distance between us until we’re pressed together with my back to his front. The tingles have now broken out along my whole body, and I have to resist the urge to rock my hips against him.
One of his hands grips my waist, and his fingertips brush my skin along the top of my pants, while the other helps lift my ball into place in front of me.
“Are you ready?” His lips brush my ear as he murmurs the words against it to be heard over the music that still thumps through the speakers.
My breathing shallows as desire unfurls in my stomach.
“O-okay.”
“I’ll count us off and then let me guide you.”
I nod and attempt to focus on the lane in front of us and not the heat of the man pressed against me.
“1…2…3.”
He counts off and moves us forward, guiding my arm back as he pushes his thigh against mine to take the three steps from the dots to the beginning of the lane. We’re not even completely stopped, when my hand comes forward and my fingers release their grip on the holes of the ball.
It glides along the lane with a single-minded purpose, moving faster than normal as it speeds toward its destination. Once it connects, the pins topple over all at once, all ten lying down in surrender.
It happened. I finally got a strike. Spinning, I throw my arms around Cole’s neck, jumping up as I celebrate.
“I did it!”
One of his arms bands around my waist, holding me in place.
“You sure the fuck did!”
My gaze locks with his as the lights shimmer around us. The brown is eclipsed but the heat that greets me is clearly written in the pulse of the muscle in his jaw and the way his arm tightens around my waist.
“You…can put me down now,” I tell him, fighting the need to test the softness of his lips with mine.
He looks different, but does he still kiss the way I remember?
With a grunt, he loosens his arm, and I slide down the hard planes of his body, aware of every inch of pressure between the two of us.
He doesn’t step back and neither do I as we continue to stare at each other.
A kiss for every strike .
It was a rule we had in high school. One I want to demand he fulfill right now.
Friends don’t bowl with those kinds of rules . You don’t have that rule with Zach .
But even that little voice doesn’t completely erase the desire that simmers in my stomach. And based on the serious attention he’s giving my lips, he remembers our rule from before.
I want to kiss him. But I also don’t trust him. Not completely. Not with my heart.
His gaze flicks to mine and he lifts a hand, one finger sliding along the piece of hair that has slithered loose from my ponytail to rest against my cheek. His calloused finger brushes my cheek as he traces the strand to the end and glides it back along my jaw to tuck it behind my ear.
“Congratulations, Honey Girl.” The way his lips form the words is more visible than they are audible above the noise around us and the rush of blood in my ears as my breathing speeds up.
I want to lean against his hand that hasn’t moved.
I want to step away.
But before I can make a decision, he makes it for us, stepping away and dropping his hand.
It’s the smart choice.
The only one we should make.
So why am I disappointed?