Page 32 of Racking Up Penalties
“Sounds ominous. What’s up?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, intrigued by this sudden shift.
She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’m also seeing Tristan and Liam,” she says flatly, watching me closely for a reaction.
“Well, I knew about Liam, I was there when you accepted. But Tristan? As in Tristan Delaney? The quarterback who was at the shoot?” I let out a low whistle. “Didn’t expect that one.”
So she’s telling me we aren’t exclusive? Excellent, because I am not one to tie myself to one woman.
Liam being one of the guys she’s with is annoying but will make it easier to piss him off.
“Is it… is it okay with you?” Her question hangs between us.
“Hey, we’re all adults here,” I reply with an easy shrug. “If you’re cool with it, so am I.”
“Really?” Relief washes over her face, and it’s like the sun breaking through clouds.
“Really.” I flash her a confident grin.
“Instead of a drink, I was thinking we could spend the night knocking down some pins. How about bowling?” I suggest, steering the night back into familiar territory, light, competitive, and full of potential.
“Wow, bowling?” She laughs, a genuine, delighted sound. “I haven’t done that in ages! Sure, let’s do it.”
“Great!” I open the door for her, and we step out into the evening. A night of unexpected revelations has just turned into a game, and I’m already planning my next move.
The neon sign of the bowling alley flickers to life as we approach, casting a warm glow onto the pavement. The sound of crashing pins and raucous laughter floods out as we push through the doors, stepping into the cacophony of clattering balls and cheers from adjacent lanes.
“Bet you didn’t know I’m a secret bowling champ,” I tease Tessa, swagger in my step as we head to the counter to grab our shoes.
“Is that so?” she replies, her hazel eyes shimmering with mirth. “Prepare to be humbled, Matthews.”
“Never,” I fire back, but there’s an edge of excitement at the prospect of competition. We lace up our shoes, the worn leather fitting like a second skin. My fingers brush against hers as we pick out our balls, the contact sending a jolt of energy up my arm.
“Let the games begin,” she declares, and I can’t help but admire the way her red hair fans out as she takes a practice swing.
We find a lane, and the world narrows down to just us, the balls, and the pins standing at attention, waiting for their fall. Our banter is light, easy, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. She rolls first, a graceful arc that sends the ball spinning straight down the center. Strike. Her squeal of triumph hits me harder than any body check on the ice.
“Beginner’s luck,” I scoff, trying to keep my cool even though I’m impressed.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she quips, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as I line up my shot. With a confident stride, I roll the heavy ball down the gleaming lane, trying to keep my cocky smile in check. It’s not every day I get to show off my hidden bowling talents. The pins clatter, a satisfying sound, but one pin teeters and stays standing. Damn.
“Ooh, so close, Ethan,” Tessa teases from the plush, vinyl seat.
I let my second ball fly and watch it dive into the gutter halfway down the lane. The look she sends me is pure mischief, and I can’t help but laugh along.
“Careful, Tessa,” I warn with a chuckle, the weight of competition light in my chest. “I don’t like to lose.”
She just winks, those hazel eyes sparkling with mischief, and takes her turn. Her petite frame seems to absorb the rhythm of the alley as she sends the ball rolling with grace and precision. Strike. Of course. She dances back to the seating area, and I can’t help but admire her enthusiasm. It’s contagious. I, also, can’t help but admire her ass which looks phenomenal and mouthwatering.
“Beer and pizza on me if you win this round,” I offer, already heading toward the concession stand before the next frame. I don’t wait for her answer; Tessa’s laughter is agreement enough.
The queue is short, and I grab two cold beers and a large pepperoni pizza—classic comfort food that suits our easygoing vibe. When I return, I slide onto the bench beside her, handing over a beer. “To the better bowler,” I toast, tapping her bottle with mine.
“Cheers to that,” she says with a grin that tells me she knows exactly how the game is going to end.
We dig into the pizza, the tang of tomato sauce and the gooey cheese bridging any gaps between us. Tessa’s playful jabs and my flirty comebacks volley over the table. It’s so easy with her.
“Admit it, you like spending time with me even if you’re losing,” she says between bites, a challenge in her tone.
“Maybe,” I concede, savoring the taste of the beer and the lingering question of what this all means. “Or maybe I just like seeing you happy.” There’s truth there, woven into the teasing, and it hangs between us for a moment.
