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“Really?”
He nodded; Ashley’s idea of fun had not included bowling.
“Same,” Paige told him.
Inside, the main source of illumination was black lighting, which made everything white—including the striped pattern in the carpet, the constellations painted on the ceiling, and pieces of light colored clothing—glow like the moon. Pouring out of overhead speakers was Poison’s “Nothing But A Good Time”, doing its best to compete with the numerous boisterous conversations and the crash of balls knocking over pins. The smell of hamburgers and hot dogs hung in the air, mingling with the heavy scent of floor wax and well-worn carpet.
The place was jumping for a weeknight.
After David ignored her objections and paid for two games, they got shoes and went to their designated lane.
Paige set her purse on a chair, followed by her denim jacket before sitting down. David took the spot next to her and as they put their bowling shoes on, he proposed they make a bet.
“A bet? You’re a better bowler than me,” she pointed out. “Why don’t I just give you $10 dollars right now?”
“Playing for money is for people without imaginations. I was going to suggest something more … entertaining.”
“What do you want to play for, then? You’ve already seen my boobs.” The moment she realized what she’d said, Paige pressed her lips together in embarrassment. Had she really just mentioned her boobs? Damn the jet fuel in that Margarita. “Gah. Not that my boobs would be entertaining, or anything.”
In the dark, his teeth gleamed white when he laughed. “I actually would find them entertaining,” he said. “But I was going to suggest that the loser has to make the winner whatever he wants for dinner.”
Paige felt some of her embarrassment fade. “Wait. You said ‘he’. Whatever ‘he’ wants for dinner.”
“I know. And I already know what I want you to make.”
Trying to overlook his obvious amusement, she got up and headed for the racks of balls. He followed and insisted on helping her with her choice, as if it was a complicated procedure.
“I can pick out my own ball,” she told him, grabbing a bright pink one and swaying a bit in the process, because it was heavier than she’d expected. “There. Done.”
David immediately took it from her and put it back, sort of crowding her a bit in the process. “You need one that will give you a fighting chance.”
“That was mean.”
Ignoring her, he looked over the balls, then handed her a yellow one with mother-of-pearl swirls in it. “Try this.”
Paige took it from him. “This one’s perfect. Done.”
“You need to take this seriously. The ball’s heft needs to feel good in your hands.”
“Did you just use the word ‘heft’?”
His lips twitched. “How does the ball feel in your hands?”
“It feels like a bowling ball. Should I fondle it, to get better acquainted with its heft?”
With a grin at her saucy attitude—no doubt fueled by the Margarita—he lobbed a few more ‘ball’ innuendos at her before he was finally satisfied with her ball, then went to pick out one for himself. When his choice turned out to be bright blue, Paige couldn’t help asking, “Aren’t blue balls bad?”
“Normally they are, but this one is going to win me dinner.”
Even though she suspected he was right, she still gave him a dirty look.
Returning to their lane, Paige typed their names into the console scoreboard screen, while David pulled a hair tie out of his pocket and put his hair up.
“You look disappointed,” he told her, in response to her expression.
“I like it down.”
“I know. But I don’t want my hair messing with my game.”
