“I’m taking you bowling,” he said firmly. “You can watch TV tomorrow.”
I swiveled in his arms and faced him, wanting to taste his lips all of a sudden. I’d never felt more alive. My senses were running on V8 engines like his Hummer, churning out hormones and desires I didn’t even know I had.
“Bowling?”
“Bowling.”
“Okay,” I said, giving in all too soon.
“Let’s go!” He ran his lips over Maverick’s fur, sending a surge of jealousy through me, and placed him in the crate. “Put this on,” he said as he tossed the T-shirt my way.
Without a second thought, I walked into my bedroom and swapped shirts, then threw my hair up into a ponytail.
When we stepped outside, I was surprised to see Jake’s hulk of a truck double-parked in the middle of the street with the blinkers on, waiting on us. “You could’ve been towed!” I told him as I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Nah, I knew I was only going to be a few minutes.” He slammed the door shut on my side and ran around the front, hopping into the driver’s seat.
I cut a sideways glance his way. “A little sure of yourself, wouldn’t you say, Jake?”
“Everyone loves to bowl. I knew you’d come.” As we rattled down my street, pockmarked with potholes, he teased, “Should I play our song?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t you roll your eyes. That song is growing on me. After all, it was written about you.”
He pressed his finger against the radio screen and the Gin Blossoms filled the truck. Bravely, I reached out to push his hand aside and started pushing buttons, looking for something else. This vehicle was worth more than everything I owned, and I had no right to touch anything. What if I broke it?
“Oh, leave it!” Jake shouted, covering the display with his hand, blocking my way. He pushed the screen again, then snagged the volume knob and turned it up, sending some seventies funk vibrating through the truck.
“Oh yeah, now we can get ready to bowl. It’s seventies cosmic bowling, did I tell you? Strobe lights and a disco ball, and a few John Travolta lookalikes.”
“Oh God.” I groaned. I was so in over my head.
“I mean John Travolta from his Saturday Night Fever days, not recent.”
“Well, that makes me feel better.”
“What’s wrong?” He turned down the volume and glanced my way.
“I’m fine, just a bit out of my element.”
“You’re wringing your hands like you’re going to your death.” He said it with a pained look on his face, the small crinkles next to his eyes not happy this time, but sad.
“No . . . no . . . nothing like that. I just don’t get out much, and I feel like you’re showing me the world just with sushi and bowling.”
“Good! Well there’s more to show you, babe. Sushi and bowling are just the beginning.”
My heart melted, turning to liquid butter with those few words. Just the beginning.
Once we’d parked in the lot for the bowling lanes, Jake opened my door and took my hand, spinning me under his arm before dipping me. “Ready to bowl seventies-style?”
Nodding, I put on my game face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I wasn’t at all prepared for what I’d find inside the bowling alley. A disco ball did, in fact, hang from the ceiling, shooting prisms of color everywhere. A DJ was set up in the corner with oversized headphones covering his ears, spinning vintage Donna Summer into the air.
I closed my eyes and let the familiar music wash over me. Suddenly, I was a young girl at home, my mom playing this album on our old record player, dancing as she dusted her way around our small dining room. “Someone left my cake out in the rain . . . ”
A big, warm hand ran down my back and wandered up again, then tugged on my ponytail, knocking me out of my trance. “Still good?” Jake asked.
“Yep. This music reminds me so much of my mom. She loved everything from back then. The men in their polyester leisure suits, Diana Ross and Donna Summer, and the Bee Gees. Oh God, the Bee Gees. How could I forget we used to dance to this music while cleaning?” I felt a bittersweet smile tugging at my face.
“You okay?” Jake caressed my arm, grabbing my attention.
“Yeah.” I swallowed, then met his eyes. “My mom has dementia. She doesn’t remember much, and I only hope I don’t forget any of it.”
“Well, listening to music is a good way to do that. Sounds to me like you’re gonna love tonight.”
He grabbed my hand and led me to the shoe rental. After procuring the correct sizes and swapping them for our street shoes, we made our way to the Team Fizzle lanes, where Jake introduced me to everyone.
His team was split into two groups of four, eight people in total. There were five guys and three women, including me. Two of the men were trainers and even bigger than Jake. The other women were front-desk greeters, and the last two men were sales staff. Fizzle was clearly a bigger operation than I imagined, and the people here obviously adored Jake.
But there was something slightly off. Jake seemed to give so affectionately to his staff, but whenever they complimented him, he silently shrugged it off, seeming uncomfortable. We were having too much fun for me to slip into analyze mode, so I tucked the impression away to pull out later. Not willing to be pulled completely outside my comfort zone, I drank beer while the others drank something called Moscow Mules in iced copper mugs, and we all danced between rounds of bowling.
When the Bee Gees came on, Jake grabbed me in his arms, literally tossing me up in the air and then catching me. “How’d you like that, Legs?” he teased, swinging me from side to side, then dipping me like earlier. But this time, he placed a quick kiss on my earlobe afterward.
Sadly, my balls were drawn to the gutters, but Jake kept knocking all his pins down, making up for his sorry excuse of a partner. My cheeks hurt from grinning so much when we finally said good night to everyone.
I leaned my head back into the plush leather as Jake drove me home. “It was a good night, thanks,” I murmured.
Half of me was asleep, but the other half buzzed with some unidentifiable lust. Thanks to two beers, I was looser than usual, less stressed and not as OCD. When I met Jake in jail, I’d never imagined him to have this fun side. Of course, he was all flirty and seductive despite being behind bars, but there was something pensive, almost sullen, about his mood, and it seemed to follow him everywhere.
Even when I ran into him at the bar at Roman’s with Camper, there was a touch of melancholy I couldn’t put my finger on. But tonight was different. He was looser, happier, more easygoing, and I loved it.
Yet as we neared my place, some of the tension seeped back in. His face was pulled a slight bit taut, and I watched his hand white-knuckle the steering wheel. We made our way toward my neighborhood, the streets littered with college kids swaying and laughing, but when we reached my building, Jake drove right past it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m looking for a parking spot.”
“Oh.”
“I thought I’d help you take Maverick out. It’s late, after midnight, and I don’t want you wandering the streets.”
“Oh.” What the heck was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I form a simple sentence? “Um, I go out at night here all the time. Really, I’m fine.”
“Not when I’m here, you don’t,” he murmured as he navigated the truck into a spot a block away from my place.
I opened my door before he could get there, but as soon as I stepped out, he wrapped his hand around my elbow and guided me to the sidewalk.
A group of rowdy guys wearing matching fraternity sweatshirts stumbled out of a building. “Hey! You two havin’ fun?” they called out, obviously drunk, barely able to put one foot in front of the other.
“Take it easy, guys,” Jake warned.