17. Darcy
Chapter 17
Darcy
T WO DAYS. JUST two days ago, the growly man behind the bar was fucking me like our lives depended on it, and I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how different he is when it’s just us, the way he grants me grin after grin, as though he isn’t giving me a precious gift every single time.
Good lord. Am I comparing his smiles to “precious gifts” now? I really am dick-whipped.
To be honest, no one would blame me. Amanda sure doesn’t, because I called her almost the second that he left me in his loft two mornings ago.
Suffice to say that my girl is a big believer in whatever is happening.
Anthony and I haven’t had any time together since that morning two days ago. I’ve been putting in extra time at Dad’s hardware store in the morning and night helping to train the summer part-time students, putting me in Anthony’s loft long after he’s left for the morning and leaving before he’s done for the night. Never mind the work I’m doing on the pool table in Agatha’s garage. Part of me is glad for the time apart, because I can’t help the twinge of unease every time I think about the way we ended things the other day. The other part of me wants to climb him like a tree and demand he do that thing with his tongue again.
I know I should be fine with the set-up we agreed to—who gets mad about hook-ups that are like Anthony Hall?—but I want more. Which is a “me” problem, I know.
Throwing my car into park, I grab my things before sauntering across the sweltering parking lot and into the cool dimness of Hall’s Balls. I take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the light, using the time to reset. There’s no escaping Anthony tonight, because it’s bowling league night. I left my work in the loft early and went home to shower and shave. And…maybe I put on a nice bra and panties, and maybe I didn’t. Who’s to say?
My hair is up in its customary top knot, a pink bandana tied around it. I’m in my pink cheetah crop top and wearing a just-below-the-knee black skirt that is stretchy and comfortable as hell. I distinctly recall the way Anthony’s eyes tracked me in this skirt the last time I wore it, and I plan on using every tool in my arsenal to get back into his bed tonight. Because I do, in fact, want to climb him like a tree and demand he do that thing with his tongue again.
His eyes flit to me once he’s finished with a group of moms who had far more to say to him than necessary. I know it’s terrible of me, but I absolutely love that he gave them exactly no attention other than the bare minimum to get their drinks and process payment. I don’t know that I’m jealous of them, exactly, but I’m not going to lie and say that there’s something about how free they seem to feel about flirting with him that I don’t think I could get away with.
He nears me, and I smile. “Hey, Mr. Hall.”
“Drink?” The way he’s acting, it’s as though the man hasn’t had his mouth on me.
“Pitcher of margaritas, please,” I say, leaning onto the bar and making sure to give him the full benefit of my low-cut top.
And…score! It works. He glances down for the briefest of seconds and I cheer inside my head. When his gaze meets mine again, his eyes are heated.
“What is that?” he growls.
I tilt my head. “What is what?”
He moves infinitesimally closer. “What are you wearing?”
Ah. “A bra.”
He grunts, which makes me laugh.
“A margarita, please.” I pause. “Top shelf.”
His eyes meet mine. With another grunt, he turns to put it together.
“Hi!” comes a voice from beside me. I turn, and there’s Devon and Aaron. Devon wraps me in a tight hug, then nods a hello at the stone-faced Anthony.
He slides the margarita to me, then raises a questioning brow at Devon and Aaron.
“Me, too!” Amanda says, sliding up next to me with Agatha in tow.
I wince. “Was I supposed to bring you?”
Agatha waves my concern away. “Not at all. Amanda and I had some planning to do.”
Devon takes a sip of the drink Anthony slid to her. “Planning? Or plotting? Because I know your type, Agatha—and there’s always something going on in that head of yours that the rest of us have no clue about.
Beside her, Aaron laughs. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“You play the long game—and I should know,” Devon continues, looking at her husband with a knowing smile.
Agatha clasps her hands in front of her chest. “That sounds like a story I’d love to know.”
I lean in. “Same. Spill it, sister.”
Devon laughs. “Let’s just say that my grandmother made it her mission to get me and Aaron together, even though at the time I was traveling the country and had no plans to come home to Talladega.”
“But come home she did, and it gave me the chance I needed to prove she should be with me,” Aaron says, pulling Devon’s back to him and kissing her cheek.
“That’s adorable,” Amanda coos.
“Sounds like your grandmother is pretty amazing,” I add.
“She was,” Devon says.
After a beat, I clap my hands. “Okay, let’s get our bowling on, shall we?”
The four of us head to the lane closest to the bar and get situated, swapping out our shoes and picking our balls. I’m the only one who’s bothered to buy her own bowling ball, and of course it’s a cherry red, marbled through with streaks of pearl. We enter our names into the scoreboard, and as I glimpse Anthony behind us, I wonder for the first time if he’s always put us in this lane on purpose.
Nah. No way.
But…maybe?
Whatever. I’m being silly.
Halfway through our first game, I’ve just bowled a bucket, taking down the 2, 4, 5, and 8 pins, when Anthony walks out from the bar and comes over to us.
“Are you taking drink orders over here now?” Amanda teases.
She knows good and damn well that Anthony Hall would do no such thing. Which begs the question.
“You’re doing it wrong.” He nearly snarls the words, and then I realize he’s holding a bowling ball bag.
No way.
I point to it. “Do you…bowl?”
He gives me a what do you think look, his lips flat behind his thick beard. “Yes.”
My jaw unhinges, but at the same time, of course he bowls. Of course he does. The man is a freaking onion, revealing layer after painstaking layer as slow as molasses in winter. And for as frustrating as it is—as he is—all it really makes me want to do is uncover more.
More. When it comes to Anthony Hall, I simply want more.
Agatha claps. “Are you going to give us a lesson?”
Devon’s eyes light up with mischief as she looks between Anthony and me. “Start now. Darcy’s got one more bowl. Maybe she needs some hands-on help.”
Amanda snorts behind me, but Anthony doesn’t so much as look at Devon. His eyes are glued to mine, and I have no idea what is happening right now.
“Get up here.”
I don’t hesitate. Distantly, I wonder if I should be so quick to do what he says, but honestly, I don’t care. If Anthony Hall wants to give me bowling lessons, then I am all for Anthony Hall giving me bowling lessons. Any damn day of the week.
Behind me, it sounds like Agatha and Devon are grilling Amanda to get the skinny on why the town grump is suddenly out from behind the bar and willingly engaging in conversation with a customer. But I don’t care. Because in front of me Anthony is pulling out a sixteen-pound ball with the largest finger holes I have ever seen in a ball…and the jokes really write themselves here, but I keep my snickering to myself.
“Your approach is wrong.”
“O-kay,” I answer, drawing the word out.
“You need to stand just off-center. Not there. There. And your follow-through is shit. You’re right-handed, so you need to step off with your left foot. You need to be pulling your arm back as you walk, and then letting the ball go as your right foot hits the line. You’re not aiming straight for the center—you pretty much never want to do that.” He pauses. “Are you listening to me?”
I drag my eyes from his chest and meet his glare, barely suppressing a grin. “Sorry. Were you talking?”
He huffs. “Darcy.”
I chuckle. “I’m listening, Mr. Hall. Keep going.”
And I see it. The faintest tip up of his lips, even though to anyone else it looks like he’s scowling.
“Wanna show me how it’s done?” I continue.
“Finish your frame,” he answers. “Then I’ll do the next one.”
Keeping his brief instructions in my mind, I back up and take my turn. The ball releases and lands about a quarter of the way down the lane, off to the center and rolling toward the four pins that remain from my first bowl. When the ball hits them, it takes down all but one.
“Yes!” I pump my fist in victory. It’s a great turn, as far as I’m concerned.
Anthony is less than impressed, but of course, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. The few times I’ve seen anything approaching something other than scowling is when he’s naked above me.
Focus, Darcy.
The pins reset and Anthony turns to the other three women. “The first thing to know about bowling is that it’s all about your approach and follow-through. How much action you can get on the ball, and how far you can get it down the lane. The other thing to know is how slick the lanes themselves are, but unless you’re walking up to feel the lane itself, there’s not much you can know.”
“And how slick are your lanes, Anthony?” I ask, knowing that it sounds incredibly sexual and not caring in the slightest.
He levels a look at me. “Very. Especially this one. I make sure that this lane is freshly oiled for the four of you every week.”
“Seriously?” Devon asks. “But we’re not even that good.”
“I know, and I’m beginning to take personal offense,” Anthony retorts.
Amanda laughs. “Holy shit, did you just make a joke?”
He scowls at her. “No.”
She laughs harder. “Yes, you did.”
I bite back a smile. He is dead serious about this lesson, that much is clear. And taking such care of us with the lane? Dammit, Anthony . He can’t be like this and expect me to keep my cool. I clear my throat. “Keep going, Anthony. What else?”
He launches in, talking more about stance, form, rotation, spin, and so on. Finally, he steps back and takes his turn, releasing the ball with a punishing throw that lands it, no kidding, halfway down the damn lane. The sound of the ball hitting the pins is a loud crack that causes everyone at the other lanes to look over. Meanwhile, the four of us cheer and whoop, because of course, he bowls a strike. And when the pins reset and he takes his second turn, he does it again and bowls a spare. “It’s that easy,” he says, retrieving his ball from the chute and plucking a towel out of his back pocket to wipe it clean.
“Well,” Agatha says, “Seems we’ll need a few more lessons from you if we’re going to be ready for this competition in three months.”
He raises a brow. “You’re going to a competition?”
I nod. “In Mobile.”
He sighs. “We have a lot of work to do.”
“It’s just for fun, Anthony,” Devon pipes up. “But the lessons are great. It’s my turn—tell me how I can do this better.” She steps up and Anthony watches her.
Half an hour later, we’ve all received personalized guidance from Anthony, and he’s gone back behind the bar.
Devon turns to me. “Ahem. What’s going on there?”
“What’s going on where?” I ask, hopefully sounding as innocent as possible.
“Between you and the bartender,” Agatha says. “Which is too bad, because I had a really nice young man I wanted to introduce you to.”
Repressing the shiver at the idea of Agatha setting me up with someone, I continue. “There’s nothing going on.”
Amanda widens her eyes at me, but Agatha and Devon can’t see her.
“Well, if there isn’t anything going on with you two, then maybe there should be,” Devon teases, her eyes on the bar behind me. “He’s nice.”
He’s nice all right. Especially his mouth. And his hands. And holy shit, his cock. But I don’t say any of that.
Agatha titters. “I don’t know if I’d call him nice, dear, but he sure looks like he could throw you around in bed.”
I nearly choke on the dregs of my margarita. “Excuse me?”
She rolls her eyes and doesn’t bother responding.
Devon and Amanda cackle. Devon says, “I have a brother-in-law like him. Still waters run deep, that’s all I’m saying.”
I swear, between her and her husband, I’m beginning to think those two have a whole story or five to tell.
“Come on.” I step up to reset the scoreboard. “One more round?”