Page 9 of The Cannon
“How’re you feeling tonight?” I say to January.
“Uh. Like a balloon about to pop.”
Charlotte’s head turns in the direction of our neighboring team.
“Ohhhh. Here he comes,” she whispers. “Don’t anybody look.”
But I look. Playing coy isn’t in my nature. This one’s impressive. I’ll give him that. A tall glass of steaming hot water. White T-shirt fitting perfectly, red running pants. Is that bulge in his pants an optical illusion? Must be.Eyes up, Bristol.
He’s in front of me by the time I raise my lids.
“Evenin’, Miss Scarlett.” He says it low and slow.
“What?”
He chuckles at what he thinks is my confusion. I’m just surprised he’s quoting my favorite movie.
“That’s a line inGone with the Wind.One of her many admirers says that when she walks up,” he says locking eyes with me. “And she gave him the same look you’re giving me now. Am I gonna have to storm your plantation, Bristol?”
Okay, so he’s kind of funny.
“Fiddle-Dee-Dee. I’m not giving you any kind of look.”
His luscious lips part in surprise.
“So you do know Scarlett and Rhett. That’s kind of our dynamic. Don’t you think? You stand there looking irresistible and I point out I’m the sort of man you should be with.”
“You’re imagining things.”
A smile curls one corner of that tempting mouth.
“I have been since we met.”
Christ almighty.
“So is that your favorite film? It’s mine,” I say trying to distract him from looking at me with those soulful eyes.
“Book. I’m a big reader.”
How unusual for a young guy to choose a romantic saga.
Suddenly I’m aware of the people around us. The bowling alley is loud and teams are practicing. Except for my family. They’re trying to listen to every word Sawyer and I are saying.
It’s the way they’re doing it that’s comical. Not one is looking our way. All hold themselves just a little too still not wanting to miss anything. As if freezing like statues is going to improve their hearing.
“I’ve got to get ready. We’re about to start and I don’t have my shoes on yet,” I say.
“Alright. We can continue our conversation later. I’ll come back after we’ve won the tournament and buy you a drink.”
“That’s what you think. You haven’t seen my form yet.”
He pauses for a few moments and I think he’s considering some sort of double entendres. Instead I get a nod of his head and a respectful answer.
“Let the games begin.”
He turns and starts to walk away, then looks over his shoulder and offers a final thought.
“Don’t let my ass distract you.”
