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His half-smirk told me he suspected just how little was happening behind my eyelids.

I speared him a glare and focused on trying to remember, panic kicking up in my insides. But I needn’t have worried. Even as my mind had taken in nothing, the lesson was ingrained in my body, in the way I pivoted on my hips and my wrist twisted, just like he’d shown me.

A thrill shot through me, dark and heady, at how he’d coaxed my body into obedience, despite the stubbornness clinging to my every bone.

I stepped up to the approach, instinctively slowing my steps, their eyes on me stiffening my spine. I could still feel his hands guiding me, a molten brand over my skin, invisible to everyone else.

My dad’s advice that duct tape fixed anything flashed in my mind, but I feared not even the industrial-grade one might save me now.

Heart fluttering in my throat, cheers of encouragement blurring into one voice in my ears, I let the ball fly, clasping my hands together and holding my breath as it hissed down the slick, lacquered lane, catching the neon sign off the wall and approaching the slumbering pins glowing white underneath bright lights.

It picked up speed, leaving a faint track in its wake, before knocking into them with a sharp thud. They clattered to the floor, the sound louder than last time, and a gleeful cry of victory burst out of me.

Seven freaking pins!

I did a triumphant little dance, grinning from ear to ear as genuine, loud whoops greeted me for once from our table.

Josh’s mask slipped.

For a flash, I worried I’d been too silly, but the flicker of emotion peeking through resembled pride more than anything.

My stomach did a small excited flip, and my cheeks warmed before full-on catching fire as he drawled a “better” in a much too rough voice, the praise bypassing my brain and settling too low for comfort.

Pri saved me with a well-timed hug and I clung to the distraction like an olive branch, trying to rein myself in, her bubbly congratulations barely brushing the shells of my ears and not sticking.

I sipped on my strawberry drink, each cool gulp helping my composure as I feigned intense concentration on Pri’s form, then Mark’s, as they each took to the approach, teasing and trying to distract each other, while I fought to ignore the pull of Josh sitting across from me and the heat of his gaze brushing my face.

Glancing sideways for a heartbeat, I caught a glimpse of the overhead purple and pink lights spilling over his features, tingeing his eyes almost indigo, highlighting the furrow between his brows as he studied the scoreboard, before sliding down to emphasise his frame and the lightly tanned skin of his chest peeking out from an undone button.

My mouth went dry.

He straightened up, smirking as he caught me, and stretched as if in slow motion. The deliberate movement pulled my attention to the line of his arms and the wholly unfair way he rolled his sleeves up, stealing a little of my breath.

Saxophones sang somewhere under my roaring pulse.

“Watch closely, Mia. If you want to learn how to throw a strike, that is,” he drawled, ambling to the ball return, with my traitorous eyes sweeping over the expanse of his back, catching the muscles shifting under the fabric as he picked up a ball, before snagging on the illegal way those casual grey chino pants draped over his ass and thighs.

Oh, god, I’m a pervert.

Hook, line, and sinker. My gaze ducked to his hands, to the sinew running down from his sleeve to the knuckle, making my mouth dry and my tongue ache to trace it. His arm arched back, and the V-shaped tendons above his wrist popped.

A small choked whimper caught in my throat, mercifully covered by the music.

My eyes snapped away, but it was too late. My mind supplied the rest—filthy scenes forming faster than my mind could shut them down: his hand around my throat, veins popping as he held down my wrists—

I need Jesus.

I nearly upended my can as I reached for something to do with my mouth, something that would allow me to swallow. My stomach tumbled as I found Pri watching not Josh, but me, with a knowing glint in her eyes that made me wipe my palms on my pants.

“What’s wrong, Mia?” she trilled, her voice almost sing-song, her smirk sharp enough to eviscerate all the secrets out of me.

“Nothing.” I huffed, like her innuendo was ridiculous. “Trying to learn.”

My shoulders quirked up in a feeble show of innocence, and my head whipped around at a sharp crack. The scoreboard beeped and whistled, announcing another strike.

I jumped to my feet and cheered before my mind even registered it, and his dazzling grin as he turned crashed my heart against my ribs.

“My, are you cheering for me now?” he teased, though his voice dripped warmth. “Did I hit my head somewhere?”