Page 58 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

She pulls back with a sly smirk, and I can’t help but appreciate the way her arms squeeze her tits together, the line of her generous cleavage disappearing beneath her white shirt.

“Deal,” I say, my voice deeper than normal. Fuck, what this girl does to me.

Straightening up, she bounces over to the ball return. “Okay, so how does this work? Do I just pick any ball?”

“Yup. You want me to go first?” I ask. “Show you how it’s done?”

“Yes, please.”

I push off my thighs to stand and walk over to the ball rack. After carefully inspecting half a dozen, I find a brown-and-red ball that lives up to my expectations. Then, I pull out the gloves from my pocket and pull them on.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” she says, holding up a hand. “Gloves? I didn’t know we needed to wear gloves.”

“You don’t.”

She frowns. “Oh no. You’re one of those serious bowlers, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Grabbing the ball, I line myself up on our lane, centering my shoulders, then let it rip. The ball rockets perfectly straight down the middle.Strike. Turning around, I dust off my shoulder and slide back over to where she’s sitting, visibly shocked.

“You didn’t tell me you’re a ringer.”

I shake my head. “I’m hardly a professional.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Okay, I may have come in second place during a state championship when I was twelve.”

“Fascinating.”

I wave her forward. “Come on, grab that green ball.”

She scoops up the ball with a strangled “Oof, these are heavy,” and walks in my direction.

“Yeah, fair warning, your shoulder might be sore tomorrow.”

“A reminder of how you defeated me on our first date then,” she teases.

I laugh and turn us both toward the lane. “Okay, feet like this,” I say, kicking her left foot forward. “And these three fingers through the holes.”

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and I try very hard not to make contact because I’m thinking exactly what she is and damn, I’d like to fit my three fingers in her holes.

“Now you’re going to swing back and as it rolls forward? Release.”

I feel her intake of breath against my chest, my hand ever so gently atop of hers, guiding it back, then forward, then . . .

“Oh my god! I hit one!” she cries.

“Damn right you did.”

“Thisisfun,” she says.

Something in the way her voice breaks makes me realize that maybe she hasn’t done anything fun in a long time. “Good. You get another turn, since you didn’t knock them all down on the first try.”

“Oh!” She turns around to find her green ball again and shuffles back to the center of the lane. I watch while she places her feet, her brows sewn together in concentration. She winds her arm back, releases, and hits all but two pins down.

“Holy shit!” she says, spinning around. “Joel, did you see that?”

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