Page 91 of Inbetweeners
“But you don’t knowwherethose fingers have been. I thought you just held the ball and rolled it.”
“No. Too little control doing that. You can wash your hands afterwards. I promise not to touch you with my disgusting fingers until I’ve washed them. Pick a ball.”
How he was supposed to choose? Obviously, some were bigger than others, heavier, but… That swirly purple one was pretty.
“Bad choice,” Phoenix said.
Information that came too late because now Emmett couldn’t get his fingers out.Shit.He wedged the ball between his knees and pulled.
Phoenix almost choked laughing. “Why did you go for that one?”
“I like the colour.” Emmett finally twisted his fingers free and returned the ball to the rack.
Of course, Phoenix landed a strike with his first roll of the ball. And with his second.Jammy bastard.Emmett’s first throw landed in the lane of the people next to them. He was mortified. Phoenix guffawed.
Bowling turned out not to be one of Emmett’s innate skills. He’d not yet found anything, other than maths, that he’d taken to naturally. Certainly nothing sporting. He’d been hopelessly uncoordinated as a child, partly because of the endless criticism. He was useless at tennis, and too averse to cold water to show any enthusiasm for swimming. Of course, his father swam every day in their unheated pool and expected his son to do the same. Emmett had no choice. Heating had only been installed when his brother learned to swim. Hard not to feel resentful.Fuck it, I am.But it wasn’t his brother’s fault.
Emmett opted for a different tactic with the ball and tried giving it the gentlest of pushes.
“I’ll have time to go and get us a drink before that gets there,” Phoenix said.
Emmett was glued to the ball’s progress. Just as he began to hope he might actually knock down a pin—unless the ball ground to a halt before it reached the end—at the last moment, the bloody thing slipped into the gutter.What the fuck?He threw the next ball so hard, in a temper, that he fell over and almost missed seeing it reach the pins. But one went down.At last.
Phoenix said nothing. His face said everything. Thoughhedidn’t get a strike with his next. Probably deliberately so Emmett didn’t feel such a twat.
Emmett was worse than useless. But embarrassment faded as he realised how much Phoenix was enjoying himself, how much they were both smiling. Far too late, Emmett saw that being laughed at wasn’t always a bad thing, especially if you were able to laugh at yourself.
“Obviously, I’m going for a record for the worst ever genuine score,” Emmett said.
Phoenix grinned. “I have never seen anyone as bad as you.”
“Is it wrong to take pride in that?”
“Want me to show you how to bowl?”
“Does it involve you standing close behind me, breathing into my ear, pressing your cock against my arse and running your hand down my arm?”
“It might.”
“No, then. That’s too much of a distraction.”
Despite Emmett trying his best, he really was crap. Phoenix managed strike after strike, and Emmett whooped when he finally managed to knock five pins down with one bowl. Most of his balls ended up as no scores. He looked enviously at the family in the next lane who had the bumpers out for their kids, which helped keep the ball in the lane.
“We could—” Phoenix said.
“Don’t even think it. I’m going to get a strike if it kills me. Well, no, I’d prefer it didn’t, but…”
Emmett even waited for Phoenix’s ball to come back to see if using that made any difference.
He was still terrible.
“You’re trying too hard,” Phoenix said. “This is your last bowl. Stand with your back to the pins and roll it between your legs.”
“Seriously?”
“Try it. You can’t be any worse.”
Emmett picked up the blue ball and faced Phoenix.
