Page 2 of Late to Love

Also the hottest.

He sports a near-constant scowl (hot), a neatly trimmed dark brown beard (very hot), and two delicious sleeves of tattoos (ridiculously hot) over a massive chest that won’t quit. He is a specimen of a man, huge in size, and more than once I’ve fantasized about him tossing me over his shoulder to have his way with me.

But he’d have to actually speak more than ten words a night for me to do anything more than just fantasize about it.

He clocks my and Agatha’s arrival and turns to make her usual drink without so much as cracking a smile. Standard.

I half wish I had some gum in my mouth I could snap like a bratty teenager, but alas, I don’t. Instead, I flash an overly enthusiastic smile at him when he shifts his attention to me. “Hi, Mr. Hall.”

“Anthony.” He practically growls it.

I shrug, pretending not to care and delighting in the way his scowl deepens in response.

“Drink?”

I pretend to think about it. Although my order changes constantly, I always decide beforehand. The delaying tactic is entirely so I can ogle Anthony. And besides, it’s fun to irritate him. “Rum and coke, please.”

He grunts and turns to make it without another word. I watch him as he works, enjoying the way the black T-shirt is tucked into the delightfully tight jeans he’s wearing. Should I be ogling him? Of course not. But he’s just so unattainable that somehow it feels okay.

Silently, he slides the drink across the bar, and I wink at him to see if it gets a reaction. Nothing. Well, at least I tried. “Can I start a tab?” I always start a tab, but I always ask.

He raises a brow.

Seriously. One day I’m going to get the man to have an actual conversation with me. I lift my glass. “That’s a yes. Thanks!” I wiggle my fingers at him and pivot, beelining for the lane closest to the bar and swapping out my sneakers for bowling shoes. They’re personalized, naturally, all black with sparkly red cherries on each side.

A few minutes later, my best friend Amanda shows up, and shortly after that, Devon Joseph appears, making our little team complete. We’ve been playing for a couple of months now, and while I wouldn’t say we’re the greatest things since sliced bread, Iwouldsay we’re not nearly as terrible as when we first started.

Progress.

Amanda knocks her glass against mine and sips. “Cheers!”

“Here’s to a good session.”

“Here’s to us finding some cute guys,” she corrects.

I laugh. Bowling is not where we’re going to find the guys, but whatever Amanda needs to keep this going is good with me. She and I are the single ladies in our little group of four; Devon is married and Agatha’s in her early seventies, putting her, and I quote, “so far past wanting another man in my life it’s not even funny.”

Amanda and I have been best friends since grade school, and she’s been the one to lure the guys in from the second we noticed them. I’m no shrug, but Amanda’s got confidence to match her curves, gorgeous smile, and the kindest, most mischievous brown eyes on the planet. She’s a knock-out.

Devon is a little older than Amanda and me, in her late thirties and married to a paramedic named Aaron. They moved here from Talladega a couple of years ago for Devon to take a job with the education department down here. I don’t know much about it, only that she’s a frequenter of the same haunts as me: coffee shop, diner, and Hall’s Balls. Of course she needs to be on the team.

With a deep breath, I launch into the spiel I’ve been working on for the past week. “I think we’re ready to participate in a competition. There’s one in Mobile, just half an hour away, and it’s in three months. If we hunker down and really practice, we can be competitive. What do you think?” I look at them expectantly.

Crickets.

They clearly aren’t as excited as me, but I can fix that.

“Dear,” Agatha starts gently.

“You’re serious?” Amanda asks.

“Let’s do it,” Devon says brightly.

My shoulders dip with relief. At least I’ve got one in my corner. “Really?”

Her shoulder-length blond hair bobs as she smiles. “Of course! It’ll be fun to have a challenge. Something to look forward to. Besides, we need something to keep us going, making us better, or I’ll never get that sweet pink bowling ball that Aaron promised me.”

Amanda rolls her eyes. “You and that damn ball.”

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