Your Biggest Fan

16. NOAH

Chapter sixteen

“Did you talk to her?” Daniel asks, his mall rat hair poking out from under his faded gray beanie.

“Yeah, you’re golden, dude.” I give him a thumbs up, the smell of Sharpie in the air as I doodle a melting smiley face on the back of the bus seat. Another graffiti tag to add to the world.

“Oh hell yes, man!” He shakes at my shoulders. “I knew you’d come through, Nojo my man.”

For once I think everything’s falling into place. The band, Danny and Steph, even Roxanne is decent. It’s like the universe is finally cutting me a break. Of course, I should know better than to tempt fate like that.

I shove Daniel back into his seat, yanking his beanie down over his eyes as Mr. Fletcher, our tubby, mustachioed gym teacher turned bus driver, stands up to get our attention.

“Alright you radical dudes and dudettes, listen up!” His booming voice silences the chatter, not the fact that he often used outdated slang in an attempt to relate to us. “I know you’re all excited for this bowling alley trip, but it’s my job to make sure you all follow the rules and have a safe and fun time. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Fletcher,” we say like robots.

“Here’s the thing though. The bowling alley is hosting a PE class for the girls’ too, so we’ll all be bowling together.” He pauses to wag a stern finger at us. “That means it’s extra important that we behave ourselves and respect each other, capisce?”

“Yes, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Outstanding! Then let the bowling fun commence!” He pumps his fist in the air.

Hands jammed in the pockets of my fitted black jeans, I shuffle off the bus into the blinding sunlight with the rest of the herd. Chris told me that once a month the PE teachers like to dump us here at the bowling alley on the southeast side of town, especially when The Velvet Ostrich across the street has their famous $1 Wine Week promo going on after Labor Day. Must be why Mr. Fletcher and the others like to conveniently supervise us from across the street.

Personally, I would have preferred to hide underneath the bleachers in my secret spot back at school, or ditched and gone home entirely, but Daniel begged me to come. So here I am... spending a Tuesday afternoon at 2 PM in a bowling alley that’s on its last leg.

Joy .

The second we step inside, the smell of beer and wax polish hits me. It's like literally standing inside of a giant refrigerator, except with blue and red beams from the neon lights bouncing off the polished wooden lanes stretched out before us. Rows of wooden booths flank each alley, along with the godawful circusy black carpet underfoot.

You know the one . The brightly colored confetti and spiral shapes that look like a kid threw up every candy possible.

We all crowd around the front counter, trading our sneakers for the communal bowling shoes and signing our names on the attendance sheet as Locomotion blares from the speakers. Mr. Fletcher starts explaining the rules: four people max per lane, don’t throw the ball down the gutter, and no food on the lanes.

My eyes start to drift from his mustache because I already know them by heart. My mom lived at this place when we first moved to town, determined to turn us into some sort of champion bowlers. By the age of twelve, I mastered maneuvering around six wobbly grownups.

Six years later, and they still haven’t fixed the metal scoring table still slanted awkwardly to one side on lane two. Back in the day, Chris and I used to compete to see who could stand on it the longest without toppling off. He won. And I still firmly believe it’s only because I hit my growth spurt first and lost my center of gravity.

Peering over Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder, I spot a familiar face in the middle of the bowling alley. I smack up the back of Daniel’s head to stop him from sniffing his pit stain.

“Ow! What gives, man?”

I jerk my chin towards the lane where Stephanie is sitting, holding her curls against her neck while hunched over her lap. Daniel’s scowl instantly morphs into a lovestruck grin.

“My sweet Stephanie!” he swoons, clasping his hands under his chin as giant heart-eyes bulge from his head.

I roll mine. He does have it bad for her.

But there’s a catch. Stephanie’s gatekeeper, Roxanne, is there, with her arms folded tightly across her white t-shirt, some sort of pink and black abstract design splashed across the front. She’s staring off into space, looking bored out of her mind, while Stephanie giggles and folds up a piece of paper beside her.

As if sensing a disruption in the area—aka my presence—Roxanne squints in my direction. Her eyes catch mine and she immediately shakes her head.

I grin. Typical Roxanne Wishmore behavior.

“Eye of the tiger, D-bone. Eye of the tiger.” I hype up my friend, gripping his shoulders like some sort of wrestling coach. Time for me to wingman the shit out of this.

He’s cheesing hard as I steer him towards the girls. The sounds of balls smashing into pins and bowlers whooping and groaning grow louder with each step, and the stench of greasy pizza mingles with the god-awful carpet smell. Neon lights cast a trippy kaleidoscope across the girls’ lane, and Roxanne’s death glare intensifies with every passing second.

I swear her nostrils flex with each angry breath.

“Ladies,” I greet as said nostril threatens to detonate, letting go of Daniel’s shoulders and moving around him.

Roxanne looks even more ready to take one of the bowling balls and launch it directly at my head. I reckon today I’ll either see love bloom or witness a murder.

I glance at Stephanie on Roxanne’s right, a sheepish smile tugging at her frosted pink lips as she watches Daniel plop down hard on the bench opposite them. I move in next to Roxanne, the wood creaking underneath me, and brace my hand against her bare knee.

I’m a grown ass man with my center of gravity intact now, perfectly capable of sitting down without using her for balance, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t mind the sass when it comes from her. If anything, it turns me on a little bit.

As expected, she violently swats my hand away, snapping her knees shut like a bear trap. The look she shoots me promises that murder, and she bends down to grab her Pepsi off the floor.

I recoil, throwing both hands up. “Whoa now, put the weapon down. I come in peace.”

Roxanne’s eyebrows pinch together in a scowl before she glances at the soda can and gets it. A flicker of a smirk crosses her face.

Yeah. Good times.

“What do you want?” she asks after taking a slurp. The liquid clings to her upper lip, and she drags her tongue across it slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. Probably imagining it was my blood.

“We wanted to come say hi, didn’t we Dani?” I tap the toe of his shoe with mine.

He nods eagerly, his eyes on Stephanie and her denim jacket that she seems to always be wearing. I tap his shoe again, harder, but he still doesn’t budge.

Nice one, Romeo .

“Yep, hi. Hello,” Stephanie chirps with a small smile, tucking her short blonde curls over her ear. “So, uh. Is that it?” She shifts in her seat. “I mean, did you guys want something else? Or you just want to say hi like you said? Because in that case, I’ll say hi, too. Hi.”

Roxanne and I’s eyes slide to each other.

I widen mine, trying to telepathically communicate: please make it stop.

She rolls hers back saying: I know, torture.

We both suck in a breath, holding our tongues as Stephanie launches into a detailed description of her favorite bowling ball, including its weight, unique marble pattern, finger holes, and sentimental value. Daniel keeps nodding at her, hanging on to her every word.

Eventually, she pauses her endless stream of babble and beams at us brightly. “So, wanna bowl with us?”

“Well, the rule is four people and...” I point at each one of us. “One... two... three...” I gasp, pointing my finger at me. “Four!”

She looks over at Daniel, still smiling. “Yes. Four! Perfect number! We have a full, complete bowling group. You can’t go bowling without four people. It’s a known fact, I think. It’s science.”

Daniel joins in, chuckling. “Your logic checks out with me. Bowling with only three people? It’s not a thing.”

“Exactly! You can go bowling with five, six, or even seven, if you’re feeling crazy like that, but bowling with three?” Stephanie shakes her head. “That’s not how the gods intended the sport to be played.”

“Preach, Stephanie.” Daniel high-fives her. “Three people bowling is an affront to nature, and even the dinosaurs are rolling their eyes at the thought of it.”

“It’s a travesty. The bowling gods would smite us if we ever went against their word.”

Christ, I want to bash these two idiots’ heads together.

I stretch my arms out along the back of the bench and wink at Daniel. A quick nonverbal attaboy to keep up his bowling banter. He smiles dopily back at me, striking up a new conversation about optimal finger hole moisture, while Roxanne shoots her friend a look that I know is telling her she’d rather crack her skull against one of the bowling balls than to bowl with us.

She shifts her shoulder away from me pointedly as my jacket brushes against it, and her nose twitches murderously again when she raises the Pepsi up to her mouth.

I scoot a few inches away from her, just in case.

Bored with nothing better to do while our two friends talk each other’s ear off, I let my eyes wander over Roxanne as she sips, noting the subtle changes since I’d last seen her at practice. For research purposes, obviously.

There’s something different about her today.

Gone are the heavy black boots, replaced by the bright blue bowling shoes swallowing her small, mismatched socks—one floral, one black, but neither keeping her drumsticks to her calf for once. My eyes land on her legs next, because yes… I can still appreciate their shapely strength that’s got to be from all that footwork on her kit.

Her shorts ride high on her thighs too, ragged holes revealing glimpses of smooth skin that kind of makes me want to stick my finger in between the strings to see if it’s as soft and warm as her knee.

She has her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail rather than her messy style, a few long wispy strands framing her face. I’ve never seen so much of her face before. It looks so... undone.

Fuck, why is it so cute?

Even under the blueish lighting, her lashes look more natural and wispy too, and the absence of her usual thick eyeliner makes me realize her eyes remind me of mossy sunbursts. You know, when you see the sunlight filtering through a forest canopy? Green predominating, but glinting with brown and gold, like dappled sunlight on moss.

They were tired eyes though, shadows clouding their usual radiance.

Shit… did my teasing go too far? Did it keep her up these past nights?

Even I don’t fully understand what possessed me that night, why I needed to push her to make her blush. A distraction after things crashed and burned with Wendy makes the most sense. But when I first saw that rosy hue explode on her cheeks and watched her passionately rant about her boyfriend not giving her what she needs, it brought out some weird fucking emotions that made my thoughts messy and I needed to see that blush again.

Now, watching her weakly sip at her drink, fatigue all over her fine features, I feel like an asshole for going too far—and the temptation to tease out that blush one more time.

Those mossy sunburst eyes meet mine, one eyebrow arching. Fuck, I’ve been caught staring. With a smirk, she lifts a certain finger in my direction.

Yep, that’s the firecracker I love to stick under a lit match.

Leaning in, I murmur, “Trouble in paradise?”

Her shoulders tense and she shoots me a startled glance. “ Huh ?”

I inch closer, my knee brushing hers. “Do we need to talk about what happened at practice the other day? You know I was messing around, right?”

“Oh.” She visibly relaxes, exhaling a bit. “You’ll be happy to know that practice is the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

Well, at least she doesn’t seem outright pissed at me.

“Noah!” Stephanie suddenly shoves an origami thing at me sitting on top of her fingers. “Pick a number.”

When I don’t look away from Roxanne fast enough, she keeps waving it aggressively in my face.

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging! Pick a number, and then, ta-da, magic.”

I lean away from the assault of paper and study the four flaps, each one a different color. Pink, blue, green, and yellow. Stephanie’s doodled various symbols on the fronts and backs with a sharpie.

I rub my jaw where the paper fortune teller smacked me. “Uh... 4?”

“Okay, now pick a color,” she instructs, opening and closing the flaps in some kind of witchcraft ritual.

“Green.”

She spells out G-R-E-E-N while opening and closing the paper in a hypnotizing motion. I’m half expecting a monster to leap out of it.

“Now pick another number.”

“7.”

More flap opening and closing occurs as she counts out S-E-V-E-N. Finally she stops and holds out the origami for me to pick a flap and peer inside.

“This sacred paper rectangle will reveal your future, Noah,” Stephanie proclaims in a phony mystic voice.

I lift the flap and squint at the message written inside. “You will get stuck in a crowd trying to do the Macarena this year.” I look up at Stephanie. “How fortunate.”

She shakes her head woefully. “The paper rectangle sees all. I cannot control what insights it provides.”

“That’s a helluva fortune,” Daniel laughs. “You’d be wise to take all precautions to avoid being in a crowd, but pissing off the gods is probably a bad call too.”

Roxanne laughs, the sound bright and unexpectedly carefree. It transforms her face, chasing away the shadows in her killer eyes. “Time to brush up on your Macarena moves. Destiny awaits.”

“Oh yeah? What deep insight did the paper rectangle give you then?”

Her smile dims as she ducks my gaze, intent on picking at her chipping black nail polish. “Brace yourself for 10 more years of Guns N’ Roses slow ballads,” she mutters.

I laugh at that. “Damn. At least I’ll be dancing to an upbeat pop song while you’re stuck listening to Axl Rose wailing for another decade.”

“The paper rectangle isn’t totally off though.” She meets my eyes, a smile returning to her lips. “We’ll have to suffer through at least 5 more years of November Rain on repeat.”

“Too true.” I lean into her. “Anytime you need a pick-me-up, you know I’ll be ready with my signature Macarena moves.”

I attempt to demonstrate the moves in my seat, pumping my arms with gusto and getting another eye roll from her. Stephanie puffs out a laugh at me, shaking her head as she moves to sit by Daniel to read his fortune. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead making such a spectacular ass of myself, but those shadows tainting her eyes tell me she needs this. Bringing that smile back feels like my personal mission in life right now.

“Please, for the love of God, stop,” she pleads, fighting that smile.

Behind us, a group of people laugh loudly, thunking their bowling shoes down and starting to throw balls down the lane, reminding us all that we should be doing the same.

Still hating me, Roxanne nudges my shoulder with hers. The contact sends a little spark that travels the length of my spine. “Let’s bowl before Stephanie decides to read our palms next.”

After a very heated rock-paper-scissors duel between me and Stephanie, we settle on a player order: Daniel, me, Roxanne, and then Stephanie. With a few silently mouthed words of flirting advice, Daniel starts to ease into talking to Stephanie and finding excuses to touch her arm here and there, and I adjust to the silence that comes with watching and sitting next to her gatekeeper.

Roxanne’s profile pulls me in from time to time when she watches the others bowl. The curve of her cheek is distracting as hell, especially how she seems to always be gnawing on the inside of it. She catches me looking once, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but I quickly look away.

Whatever tension was still there since practice was still hanging over us, but I tried to not think about it too hard. Though it’s hard to ignore when the soles of my bowling shoes squeak on the slick floor as I grab a ball, and feel her beady eyes tracking me each time I step up to the lane.

Every damn time I turn around, her head is cocked at a 73 degree angle. Reminiscent of what I think a velociraptor would look like. I blame her presence for my loss to Stephanie by only one measly pin.

“It’s lonely at the top,” Stephanie crows, before announcing that she requires a basket of fries after stomping us. I subtly elbow Daniel to follow her and help with snack patrol—to get his flirt on.

Which leaves me alone with Roxanne, sitting on the bench, and I need her to loosen up because seeing her normally sharp self so tense and reserved around me feels... wrong. It’s starting to bring down my own mood too.

“So... one hell of a game, huh?” I venture lightly, testing the waters. Roxanne gives me a withering look in response.

Okay, small talk isn’t going to cut it. Time to bring out the big guns.

I lean back and prop my feet up on the bench across from us. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Or do I need to bribe it out of you with a corndog?”

She cracks the faintest hint of a smile at that, but her posture remains rigid as a steel rod.

“Come on RoRo, talk to me,” I plead, running a knuckle up her sleeve. “I’m dying over here and the only cure is knowing what’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing, Noah. I’m fine.”

Wow . And she didn’t even tell me to fuck off with that nickname. Something is definitely up.

“Lie detector test says... that’s a lie,” I counter, mimicking a buzzer sound.

She sighs, shifting to face me. “For the last time, it’s nothing,” she repeats, mossy eyes darting away before zoning back in on me, hard and unwavering. “Also, I don’t remember us changing the rules to let you grill me about personal stuff. Drop it already.”

I hold my hands up. “Okay, okay, dropping it.”

I still study her though as she angles away again. Her brows are cinched together, shoulders hunched inward like she’s trying to collapse in on herself. She’s putting on a convincing ‘nothing’s wrong’ front, but I can tell she’s thinking too hard about something. My radar sense vision is beeping off.

I discreetly scan the bowling alley and don’t spot that annoying little redhead. It’s definitely not that bothering her... at least.

“Let’s bowl,” she mutters, standing up to take her turn first this time. I watch her march to the lane, ponytail swishing like an angry cat’s tail.

She grabs a ball and rolls it forcefully down the lane. It careens straight for the gutter with a loud clank . Roxanne groans and stomps back over to the bench, throwing herself down.

I bite my tongue to hold back a laugh. She needs to blow off some steam if she’s taking it out on the poor bowling balls.

“And here I thought I’d be the one knocking over all the pins.” I knock my knee against hers.

“And here I thought it’d be impossible for you to say something without sounding like an ass,” she snaps back, turning to face me. I can hear the cat claws sharpening against swords.

“I’m an ass, and you’re a pain in the ass... but at least I’m a lovable ass.” I smile at her from a short distance.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told I’m pretty infuriating lately.”

She bristles, spine snapping straight, and I slap my hands against my knees while hopping up from the bench to grab my own ball. I moonwalk up to the lane, spinning wildly before focusing and launching the ball straight down the middle. It crashes loudly when I bowl a strike, knocking all the ten pins down in one go. I turn and spread my arms wide in victory.

“Would you look at that! Seems I’m a natural when it comes to handling balls,” I proclaim, trying to make her laugh. She narrows her eyes.

“That’s funny because you remind me of a dick,” she retorts, voice dry as a bone. “Long and annoying.”

“I see you’re quite the expert in identifying dicks and asses then.”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p. “Why don’t you go play with yourself, then? Might actually find somebody who can tolerate you.”

I snatch up another ball, tossing it from hand to hand. “Yeah, but unlike a dick, you can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Still sweet enough for me.” I run my tongue against my cheek as Roxanne mimes a heave, finger pointed towards her open mouth.

“You’re disgusting. Do the world a favor and go play in traffic.”

The claws are out. I shake my head at her and set the ball onto the rack, plopping down on the bench across from her this time, spreading my legs wide and draping my arms across the back.

“I could give you some private lessons if you want,” I suggest with a few eyebrow wiggles. “Free of charge, even for you.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, but she quickly smooths her expression back to neutral. “Tempting, but I would rather drink a cup of warm vomit, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I can be very... hands on in my teaching methods.”

“Ugh, leave me alone,” she groans, but that smile is still trying to break free.

“Just one lesson? I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” I place a hand over my heart, the picture of perfect innocence. Roxanne shakes her head.

“In your dreams.”

Perfectly timed, Father Figure starts playing from over the speakers, and Roxanne’s head jerks forward, even more exhausted with me. She slowly gets up from the bench and grabs a bowling ball, avoiding grin #3. My foot taps to the beat as I see her shoulders rise before they move back down slowly, like she’s taking in a deep breath and really trying to focus.

Knowing her, she can’t stand having me watch her get another gutter ball.

She steps up to the lane, eyes on the pins standing at the end. She takes a few slow steps forward in her prep, swinging the heavy ball back between her legs like some wind up machine. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone bowl like that before, but I’m admiring her form despite how wrong it is.

She releases the ball with a smooth forward slide, keeping her body lowered in a slight lunge. It glides down the slick lane, knocking over… one pin.

I clap slowly. “Wow, look at that.”

Her angry nostril looks at me from over her shoulder. “Shut up. I did really good. I just didn’t get the last... nine pins.”

She grabs another ball from the nearby rack, turns her back to me, and struts back to the front of the lane. This time, she takes a few big steps and swings the ball between her legs.

The result? A slow collision with another pin.

The corner of her mouth pulls further down into a deep frown as she spins around on her heels, fists balling at her sides. She huffs under her breath and marches back to grab another bowling ball. I guess we’ve abandoned the orderly turn-taking system we fought over now since Daniel and Stephanie are still talking by the concession area. I take a peek over my shoulder to see Stephanie’s hand on his arm while she doubles over in laughter.

Atta boy.

Roxanne rolls the ball again, but only clips one lone pin on the far edge. She nearly screeches, “Are you fucking kidding me?” while her hands shoot up in the air as she watches it wobble but stay upright. She turns around and grabs another ball, and I wipe my smile off my face, lounging back to enjoy the show.

This time the ball makes right for the gutter, bumping down the lane pathetically without brushing a pin.

My lips twitch. Roxanne’s head whips towards me, ponytail sailing, and catches the smile.

Busted .

I tilt my head at her as she grabs yet another ball. This one also plunges right into the gutter with a loud clunk .

“With that aim, you might need to resort to using kiddie bumpers,” I laugh. “Want me to carry you over there and plop the ball down for you?”

Her face flames bright red, and she growls—a sound that makes every hair on my body stand at attention. Her pupils vibrate in a black rage as she clenches another ball, looking about one joke away from hurling it at the pins. Damn, I’d kind of love to see that.

She doesn’t even pause to stop, only keeps turning back and throwing the ball again—and again—and again. Each time it spins into the gutter or knocks down one pin. By now the entire bowling alley is watching and snickering. She doesn’t even look embarrassed.

“Noah!” she barks, making me jump. “Get over here. Now .”

I scramble up from the bench, scurrying over and anticipating a smack on the nose with a newspaper. She doesn’t look at me as she shoves the purple ball into my chest.

“Okay, wise guy,” she grits out. “Show me.”

“Show you what exactly?”

“How to bowl, dumbass. Obviously.”

My lips part slightly. She finally dropped the D word on me. Be still my heart .

“I’m not even hitting the goddam pins,” she goes on impatiently. “Show me how to throw a ball since you’re such an expert and I’m clearly doing something wrong if I can’t hit more than one damn pin.”

“I can help with that.” Even if this lesson ends with her elbow in my gut. “First, you gotta relax. Keep bowling like that and you’ll pop a blood vessel.”

“I am calm!”

Her eyes flick to me when I poke at the vein in her forehead that’s close to bursting, and George Michael’s crooning voice starts to fill the space even louder. She shakes her head at me and I spread my hands innocently.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t pick the music.”

She points a finger down to the end of the lane. “Just knock down some pins.”

Getting into character, I start cracking my knuckles loudly. “Alright, lesson one: stop throwing it like you’re trying out for the Teen Wolf bowling team,” I smirk, tucking the ball under my arm to roll up my sleeves. “You can’t bowl without form.”

She snorts, giving me a once-over. “Is that what you call your bowling style, proper form and technique?”

“You know, you smell good today...” I tilt my head, making a big production running my eyes up and down her body. I’m laying it on thick, hoping to fluster her into silence.

Then maybe she’ll stop being such a dick.

“New shampoo?” I ask, watching as a pink rises on her cheeks with her eyes unmoving from the pins. I pull at her sleeve. “And that shirt really shows off your figure nicely too.”

“You really do know how to pick your moments, don’t you?” Roxanne snaps, still avoiding my gaze. “Now show me how to bowl with form.”

“With pleasure,” I reply. She pushes her tongue against her bottom lip, blinking up at me as I gesture for her to take the ball and stand at the top of the lane.

“It’s all in the approach, the swing...” I murmur in her ear. “The release.”

She stiffens, but goddamn I can’t help myself. Not only does she have a stick up her ass, but she’s not being satisfied by her boyfriend and is too bottled up with needs.

“Grab that swirled beauty like this.” I come up behind her, aware of each point where our bodies touch. I’m squishing her as I reach around to position her hands on the swirly ball, all cozy like a cinnamon bun fresh from the oven—today’s scent.

Roxanne always smells like she walked out of a bakery, but never the same one.

A new bakery every day.

“Here, hold it like you’re cradling a baby,” I instruct, my breath stirring the loose strands of hair along her neck. “A big, heavy, 10 pound baby.”

Roxanne snorts, angling the ball.

“Careful not to drop the baby!” I gasp. “Now bring it back gently. We don’t want to give the ball baby whiplash.”

My fingers zap hers like popping static electricity, and the cool smoothness of the ball glides against my fingertips when I take her hand and position her grip, wrapping mine around hers and guiding her arm through a slow toss.

“Then when you release the ball, put a little more arm into it.”

Strands of her dark hair tickle my jaw as she nods and hefts up the ball. My hands graze down her bare arms, fingertips brushing over her bracelets, her veins. She shifts on her feet, leaning into me ever so slightly.

God, she’s tense. I bet not a single muscle in her body has ever not been straining.

“Now you want to start with your feet shoulder-width apart.” My fingers grip her waist to angle her into position, an inch below her ribcage. She tenses at my touch before relaxing back into me, the fuzzy fabric of her shirt making my palms start to itch.

“Is this another lame Noah Jackson pass?”

I laugh, my thumbs rubbing small circles on her hips. “Trust me, when I go in for the strike, you’ll know it.” I give her waist a little squeeze, using my foot to tap at her shoe, nudging her stance wider. She squirms under my hands, eyes still fixed ahead.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” Roxanne says evenly, though I can see the pulse in her neck rising.

“If I’m enjoying this, you’re not exactly complaining.”

“I am complaining. Is this all you ever talk about, your balls?” She tries to ram her hip into my dick and puts a lot of strength into it. But she misses and hits my thigh.

“I can talk about yours if that helps.” We both glance down at the bowling ball in her hand, and her lips purse to fight against a laugh.

“Only if you want me to beat you with it,” she grumbles back.

“Well, that’s the thing,” I lean in, bringing my mouth close to her reddening ear. “I like that.”

Her neck pulse starts to pump with each breath, and it can’t be too much longer until she snaps and makes me regret coming this close.

“I think you might be enjoying yourself a little too much too,” I continue, bringing our bodies flush. “You like the way I’m always trying to win you over. The way I make you shake when I’m too close.” I slide my hands around to cup her front hips, feeling her abdomen tense. “Even the way I annoy you and get under your skin.”

Roxanne’s swallow is as loud as the alley as my fingers dig into her hip bones in a way that would surely rile her. I imagine her eyes clenched shut as she breathes through it.

“You think too highly of yourself,” she bites back, attempting to shove her elbow back into me. I knew it.

“Maybe, but I’m still going to turn you into a pro bowler.” I drop my hands. “Now keep those knees bent and bring the ball straight back, not between those legs.”

She follows my directions, eyes locked on the pins. Unable to resist, I trace my fingers along the underside of her bowling arm. I had to.

“Just help me get a strike, Casanova,” she groans.

“Then focus and take three steps forward.” My cheek grazes the tip of her ear as I whisper, “And take the shot.”

The cute flush of her cheeks has almost managed to match the graphic rose on her t-shirt, but she scowls forward and remains focused. Her eyes never leave the pins until right before she lets go, when they meet mine for a split second before she swings her arm forward. To be honest, it’s a damn spectacular throw.

The ball spins dead center down the lane—this time taking out at least six pins.

I whistle. “See that? You’ve almost got it.”

Her lips curl into a slight smile. “Yeah, but that wasn’t a strike. Are you going to actually teach me or flirt all day?”

I hand her another ball. “I’ll multitask.”

Roxanne shakes her head but takes the ball. I move in close behind her, helping position her stance again, and guide her arm back, my other hand holding her waist. She stays focused on the form, even when I take one small step back as she lines up her shot, then “accidentally” brush against her ass.

She rolls her shoulders back before sending the ball flying in a smooth release. It rolls down the lane as she bumps back into me, the ball smashing perfectly into the pocket and knocking down all ten pins.

A fucking flawless strike.

I give her ponytail a little tug. “Good girl.”

She whirls around to face me, the same ponytail whacking me in the face. I blink away the bite of her hair hitting me in the eyes, but when my vision clears, I’m momentarily blinded, stumbling back like I’m staring into the damn sun.

Her cheeks are round, beaming with an open, dazzling smile that lights up her whole face. I want to turn around and see if Ronnie James Dio himself is standing behind me because there’s no way she’s actually flashing that megawatt grin at me.

Roxanne Wishmore is smiling—dimples and all.

And let me tell you... those dimples.

Twin craters denting the smooth cream of her cheeks. I have no idea what fucking compels me, but I reach up and tenderly press my thumb into each one, feeling their indentations. My knuckles graze along the soft line of her jaw as I trace the contours of those dimples. So fascinated.

So warm, so smooth under my skin.

“I'm making sure these are real and not artificially implanted,” I laugh, staring at those devastating craters I discovered. I guess I did accomplish my mission after all.

Her brown painted lips part slightly in surprise. I don't know how long we stand here, my thumbs still pressed to the smooth indentation of her cheeks. My whole hand is cradling her face, black rings shimmering around her and complimenting her sparkling white smile.

Is this weird? This is definitely weird, right?

“Yo, fries are up!”

We spring apart as Daniel’s voice shatters the moment like a bucket of ice water. I trip over my own feet, nearly face-planting in my haste to put some distance between us.

Roxanne blinks dazedly then laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. The sound wraps around me, her dimples still winking at me.

“Um, thanks for the help,” she says, not meeting my eyes and stepping away from me.

Yeah, she definitely thought that was weird.

The bowling alley comes rushing back in—the bright neon lights, the clatter of pins, the smell of hot, salty fries. But the imprint of that smile is likely to haunt me forever, especially the phantom feel of her dimples lingering on my thumbs.

I rub my thumbs against my index fingers and slouch back to the group. It takes Daniel one look at my sorry face for his brows to furrow.

“Hey man, you good?”

“What?” I clear my throat, struggling for casualness. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just helping Roxanne with her… bowling form.”

Daniel glances between me and Roxanne, who’s studiously avoiding both our gazes as she sits with her hands clamped between her knees. I grab a fry even though my appetite is gone.

“Riiight,” he says slowly, then whacks at my chest. “In that case, you can help me with my form next.”

Damn, this is bad. My mind is still replaying that smile over and over. One more glance from her and I’ll be knocked on my ass again.

I turn back to Daniel and paste on my own smile, and I know I’m doomed.

“I’m gonna hit the restroom real quick,” I mutter to him, needing to clear my fucking head. Or dunk my face in an actual bucket of cold water. Perhaps an entire dunk tank.

I weave through the crowd. The crack of pool balls slamming surrounds me as I rush for the hallway leading to the restrooms.

As I’m about to round the corner, something small and solid plows into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I look down to see a girl with straight blonde hair stumbling back, clutching the arm of a shorter guy wearing a navy Letterman jacket.

“Oh, hey Noah!” she chirps, flashing me a tight lipped smile.

My stomach drops. Wendy .

The name even sounds sour in my head.

I haven’t seen or spoken to her since meeting her dad. Not that I didn’t fucking try, because yesterday I stared at the phone for the third night in a row waiting for it to ring. Why hadn’t she called?

There wasn’t a single moment I could get her alone at school today either. Heart racing, I started toward her once, but she disappeared around the corner before I could even approach. Like I was some sort of diseased kid living inside of a bubble.

I accepted that the humiliating party would be the last I saw of her.

The universe loves fucking with me.

“Uh, hey,” I mutter, eyeing their joined hands. She looks... happy. While I got chewed up and spit out by her dad. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

Wendy laughs, sound akin to nails on a chalkboard now, and clings tighter to Mr. Varsity Jacket. “Yeah, um… Noah, this is my boyfriend Chuck. Babe, this is Noah.”

Boyfriend . What the fuck?

Chipmunk Chuck gives me an amiable bro nod as if he didn’t steal the girl I made a fool of myself for, and he watched me do it. Maybe I should thank him for saving me from more torture.

“Hey man,” he says cooly, while I debate making a break for the restroom to stick my head in a toilet.

I flick my eyes between both of them, rubbing my chest where her shoulder rammed me. “Yeah... we’ve met.”

Wendy glances between us. “So... cool running into you!”

Liar . She searches my face for a reaction. It’s too bad for her I’ve perfected the art of looking calm while bruising on the inside.

“Yeah, crazy,” I deadpan. “Don’t let me keep you lovebirds. I was heading to relieve myself.”

My fingers start to brush against the cold metal handle of the restroom door when I hear Wendy’s voice.

“Wait!” she cries, those same manicured nails that dug into my neck digging into Chuck’s varsity sleeve. She turns to him with a sweet pout. “Babe, can you give us a minute?”

He kisses her cheek while eyeing me down—staking his claim—then brushes past me, but not before he gives me another bro nod. Probably off to go tip some nerd’s glasses into a toilet.

Wendy faces me, gnawing on her glossy lower lip. Here it comes. The “let’s be friends” talk.

The pain inside me is transforming into anger, but I don’t want to let it out. Getting angry would mean she got to me, but god, it boils deep in my gut. Her dad’s words have not stopped replying like a record on a loop in my mind, turning my chest into a home for the hounds of hell to live inside.

“I figure I kind of owe you an explanation.” Her finger starts to twirl a lock of hair, as if her nervous body language isn’t enough to clue me in that this conversation isn’t going to be a pleasant one.

“This should be interesting,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Um...” she drags out the word awkwardly. “Funny story... I wasn’t fully honest with you... or my dad.” Wendy examines her french tips. I cross my arms while I wait for her to continue.

“Chuck and I have been together pretty much... this whole time. But my dad was being really unfair about him going to NYU instead of Columbia like me.” She looks at me like it’s something I’d understand and gives me an apologetic shrug. “We agreed that I kinda… needed you to make Chuck look better by comparison—which is awkward, I know.”

The DSL start up sound goes off in my head again. She… what?

“I know it was stupid. I really care about Chuck and I panicked. I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”

It was a fucking ploy? My brain switches to spins, a demented VHS tape replaying an old, unwanted movie. The one replaying the worst scenes from my life in a never-ending loop, showing me scenes over and over, until...

STOP .

Right there, clarity smacks me up the side of the head as the motor inside my brain dies. I finally see the bigger picture in all its glory.

This whole production was carefully orchestrated—the way Chuck approached me, the drinks he tried to push my way, all designed to make me appear worse. I should’ve been suspicious when Wendy outed me so fast about all of the things she considered wrong with me, especially when she was so adamant about me being the good guy. Only thing that doesn’t make sense is why she’d let me touch and kiss her.

Either she was allowed to go that deep into baiting me and had superb method acting on her part, or she actually enjoyed slumming it for the chance to use me like that.

“Super awkward,” I reply, drumming my fingers against my biceps.

She rambles on, still twirling her hair. “I figured if daddy saw me with someone more, you know, edgy and stuff, he’d be upset and realize Chuck wasn’t so bad anymore.”

The hellfires of vengeance start to lick at my skin, but I keep my face blank.

“That’s why I had you meet my dad. I didn’t mean to hurt you though, honestly!” She touches my arm lightly. “I really am sorry, Noah.”

Her fingers curling around my forearm send a cringe rippling through me as her fingernails dig into my jacket. I don’t like that she thought she hurt me, or that she’s touching me.

“That’s why you had me meet your dad?”

When I look down into her eyes, there’s no anger there under my skin. It’s pity at her shallowness. I feel nothing. Something that I realized when she dug her fingernails into my jacket. I don't like that she thought she hurt me, or that she's touching me.

Wendy nods her head.

A laugh rips from my throat, sounding more like a dying animal than a human. “Wow. Well, this definitely helps clear a few things up.”

She shrinks back, biting her puffy lip. “Again, I’m really sorry—”

I hold up a hand, stopping her. “Don’t worry about it. We weren’t serious anyway. I’m over it.”

And I am, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. There’s still a heaviness in my chest that doesn’t simply disappear with her apology. It’s not the end of our failed attempt at... whatever the hell this was that bothers me the most. No, it’s learning that I was nothing more than a convenient tool in her elaborate plan to piss off her father because he’d know someone else was better than me.

It’s the knowledge that she saw me as the perfect candidate to be that guy who could manipulate her father’s expectations, the one who could make him reconsider his judgments. That was my purpose.

I don’t know if I like being that guy. Turns out I’m pretty damn good at it, even when I don’t mean to be.

Doesn’t matter now though.

Her eyes widen a bit at my lopsided smirk. “Seriously, no hard feelings. But honestly, you should’ve just told me.”

“I should have?”

“Yeah. I would’ve gone all in, really leaned into the scary bad guy act to give your dad a heart attack.” I chuckle, the sound coming easy. “Could’ve really sold it.”

Her eyes bug out in surprise.

“Anyway, you and Chip enjoy the rest of your night.” I give her a half-assed salute and start to push on the bathroom door again.

“It’s Chuck—”

I wave a hand without looking back. “Yeah, tell Brad I said hey.”

I let the door slam behind me before she can say more. The dirty mirror reflects messy hair, tired eyes, but my head is held high. I meant what I said—no hard feelings. She only confirmed what I’ve always expected behind those lashes and posh manners. People see what they want to see, and she’s no different.

It stings, but I’ve been through worse than a girl using me. I’m Noah fuckin’ Jackson. I don’t dwell on shit, and I sure as hell don’t let anyone make me feel small.

Once I brace myself against the sink, Wendy’s already fading from my mind. Now, where were we?

Oh right . Me being hopelessly entranced by Roxanne’s smile.