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If it is Ian, he ignores me and finishes the throw, his arm a perfect arc of grace and sport. He whips his head around to look at me the second the ball leaves his hand.
It is Ian.
“Jade?”
The ball makes contact, but instead of a strike, he’s only knocked down nine pins. I sort of feel bad for distracting him.
The crowd crumbles, and I’m pretty sure a few people shoot me dirty looks.
Ian walks toward me, confusion and surprise playing out in the furrow of his brow. “Hey,” he says and stops short in front of me. He looks like he might hug me for a second, but he seems to think too hard about it and stops himself.
“Hi?” I don’t make the move to hug him—I’m still trying to process that he’s here at the Bowlerama on a Monday night, and also that he’s the same guy the shoe man just said is their top bowler, and that Ian looks kind of cool in this all-black getup, and that maybe watching him bowl like that was kind of hot?
Jessie elbows me, but before I can introduce them, Mac holds his hand out.
“Hi. Mac. We haven’t properly met.”
The two shake hands and exchange “nice to meet you” pleasantries.
“Jessie, right?” Ian clarifies, and Jessie nods with a big, dorky smile on her face.
Why is she acting like she’s meeting a celebrity right now?
“That was so awesome,” Jessie says as if she’s meeting an Olympian, not a local bowling amateur.
“You guys here for a game?” Ian asks, playing it cool with Jessie’s fangirling. He’s only betrayed by the corners of his lips twitching up into a smile.
“Yeah, but we don’t wanna bother you,” I say. “I hear you’re the top bowler, and us plebeians wouldn’t want to interrupt your . . . practicing? For . . . the big tournament?” I say, and Ian laughs.
He’s got a kind of joy I haven’t seen on him before. His eyes are bright; his face is practically glowing. He’s never looked like this in rehearsal or while running lines.
It’s . . . really attractive.
“I’m here every Monday for my league, and then I usually stay and practice a bit. You guys should join me—please. Game’s on me.” He turns to Jessie and Mac. “Go get your shoes, tell Stu you’re with me.”
They smile and nod and do as they’re told.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ian asks, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.
“Who are you, and where is Ian Davidson?”
He shrugs, but it’s smug.
I nod to his bag. “That looks big enough for a body.”
When Ian laughs, his smile takes over his face in a way I’ve never seen. It’s pure delight distilled into the most braces-perfect smile. How am I just now noticing how nice of a smile he has?
“Maybe that is where I keep my bodies. Bowling is just my cover.”
“Bowling is way too nerdy to be a cover. This was not on my ‘Ian’ bingo card, I’ll tell you that,” I say and take a seat to change my shoes.
“You should not be surprised to find out I’mthismuch of a nerd,” he says and sits near me, leaving a seat between us.
“There are different brands of nerd. I had you pinned as a nerd for sure, but not this brand. I thought you were more like video-game, build-my-computer-from-scratch nerd. Or, like, aDungeons and Dragonsnerd. I never would have guessed bowling nerd, but now that I think about it . . .” I pause my efforts of putting on the borrowed shoes and pretend to really study him. “I can see it.”
“I’ll have you know that in bowling circles, I’m actually very cool,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“I saw the crowd!” I say as I lace up my left shoe. “You’re the baddest bitch this Bowlerama has ever seen.”
