Page 46 of When the Smoke Clears

“What do you have in mind?” I press my chin against his chest and peer up at him.

“How do you feel about bowling?”

A laugh bursts from me as I back up. “Bowling? You bowl?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” His jaw sets but his face is otherwise soft, and he still hangs on to my hands.

“It’s not really.” I study him for a moment. “Oh shit. You’re really good, aren’t you? That was your plan to seal the deal on our first date?” I can’t hold in my laugh.

He chuckles. “I like to bowl.”

“You like to bowl. Mm-kay.” He’s right. We need a break from the constant tension. “You don’t get to make fun of me.”

“So what I’m hearing is you need some lessons.”

“Oh no. We haven’t even gotten there and you’re already getting a bigger head.” I feign annoyance and walk around him to go around the house.

He trails behind at a slower pace, and at first, I think he believes my faux anger, until he starts speaking and his tone is taunting. “Are you afraid you’re too weak? The ball will be too big, right? Especially since you’re injured.”

I gape and whip around. His hands land on his hips and he grins at me. I want to photograph him again. I need to start carrying my camera like I used to.

“I’m not afraid.”

He drops his hands and approaches even slower than before. “You should take it easy. I don’t want you to break a nail.”

My eyes narrow. “You don’t have to push so hard. I was going to say yes.”

He grabs the seam of my sweater on each side and yanks me the last couple of feet to him. My arousal is immediate. “I hope you always say yes,” he says, dropping his mouth to my ear. “But you always have the option to say no.”

As if I need more reassurance, he adds, “The ball is within the weight limit the doctor said, and you’re right-handed, so it will be on the opposite side. First sign of a problem and we’re done.”

Those fiery butterflies he often releases in me take flight. He’s so fucking good.

“So, Firecracker, do you want to go bowling with me?”

I just nod, chewing my cheek.

“Words.”

I pull back and look up into his eyes. “Yes, Cowboy. Take me bowling.” I press on my toes and kiss him on the corner of his mouth.

The bowling alley sits in the tiny area of Bull Creek that can be considered industrial. It looks like an abandoned building, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we walked in and there was a giant hole in the roof. From outside, the place looks like it hasn’t been cared for in years. And yet, there are a good twenty cars in the parking lot when Sutton parks near the front.

There’s something nostalgic about the sound of a ball rolling down the lane, crashing pins, and a jukebox playing. The air holds the scent of communal shoes that shouldn’t be comforting, but somehow is. I haven’t been bowling since I was a teenager. Rainy summer days in Bull Creek were for bowling, back when Izzy, Leah, and I were teenagers.

A group of women Nana’s age occupy the two lanes farthest from the entrance. My feet plant as we get to the carpeted walkway, worn from years of use, and I take them in.

Sutton’s warm arm encircles my waist as he stands to my side. “All good?”

“Yep.” I turn to him with a grin. “Let’s do this. I’m gonna kick your ass.”

His eyebrows jump. “Well, this should be good.”

After grabbing shoes, we go our separate ways for a few minutes, searching through rows and rows of dirty, dented bowling balls for the perfect method of destruction. Mine is bright pink out of pure coincidence, but I don’t miss the laugh that Sutton suppresses when I carry it back to our lane.

“Do. Not.” I pin him with a stiff look and drop the ball onto the ball return.

That does him in and he snickers like a teenager. His ball is blue. How typical.

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