Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Tonight allows me to see Brenna in a way I haven’t seen before. Bowling isn’t the most romantic of activities, but it can give you insight into a person’s nature. Are they competitive? Petty? Are they a sore loser, or, worse, a sore winner? And with girls specifically, a bowling date can reveal whether a chick is high-maintenance. I know women who would turn their noses up at the alley’s sticky floors or crappy beer. But not Brenna.
After I win the first game, it’s Brenna who suggests another one. “Ha!” I gloat. “You like bowling.”
“I do.” She heaves an overdramatic sigh. “I’m really into this.”
I study her to see if she’s fucking with me. But there isn’t an ounce of fuckery on her face.
“I’m serious. This is awesome.” She shakes her head in amazement. “I think I actually like bowling.”
Her visible shock makes me double over in laughter. Once I’ve recovered, I move closer, my tone going serious. “I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime…” And then I wait.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she approaches the touchscreen and says, “All right, I’ll let Little Jakey go first this time.”
But when my name flashes on the screen, it simply reads: Jake.
I swallow my satisfaction. I think I’m growing on her.
She’s definitely growing on me.
“So are we allowed to talk hockey?” I ask as I walk over to the ball return. I’ve fallen in love with a neon-green ball I’ve been calling the Strikemaker.
“What about it?” she asks suspiciously.
“Well, we’re playing each other soon. It’s a big game.”
“It’s a big game,” she agrees.
“Which raises the question—who will you be rooting for when you’re sitting in those stands? Your school or your new boyfriend?” I flash a cheeky smile over my shoulder.
It’s her turn to double over in laughter. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“That’s not what you told Mulder…”
“Mulder is a prick, and I don’t feel bad lying to him. Now turn around and bowl, Jakey. I want to check out your ass.”
My grin nearly breaks my face in half, and I’m grateful she can’t see it. For her benefit, I make a big production out of my turn, flexing my arms, stretching forward in a way that makes my ass stick out. I hear a choked noise from behind me. When I turn my head, there’s heat sizzling in Brenna’s dark eyes.
“You’re such a tease,” she accuses.
“I’m just bowling,” I say innocently.
“Uh-huh, sure you are.” She slides off the chair. “Man, is it hot in here?”
The next thing I know, she’s pulling her black long-sleeve shirt over her head, leaving her in a thin black camisole that clings to her perfect tits. I glimpse the lacy cups of her bra peeking out from the neckline, and my mouth goes completely dry. I return to the seating area and grab my beer. We’re both on our second beer, but there won’t be a third. I told the concessions kid to cut us off after two.
I gulp down the cold liquid as Brenna saunters to get a ball, her gait more seductive than ever. She tosses her long, glossy hair over one shoulder, spins around, and actually licks her lips.
Lord help me.
Her first throw knocks over seven pins.
“That’s your best yet!” Standing at the edge of the lane, I offer words of encouragement. “Go for the spare, Hottie. You’ve got this.”
“Really?” she says dubiously. “I haven’t bowled a single spare yet.”
“So? Doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”
It doesn’t happen. Her second ball rolls into the gutter.
“You jinxed me,” she complains, trying to brush past me.
I hook an arm around her slender waist before she can escape. I want to tug her body against mine and kiss the hell out of her, but I settle for a chaste peck on the cheek.
“Did you just kiss my cheek?” she asks in amusement.
“Yeah. Got a problem with that?” I rest my hands above her ass, fighting the urge to move them lower. “Your ass looks amazing in these jeans, by the way.”
“I know. That’s why I wore them.”
I chuckle. My palms dip half an inch lower, but then I think, screw it. My back is to the other patrons, and nobody can see what my hands are doing, anyway. So I give her a nice, firm squeeze.
She makes a husky sound. “Dammit, Connelly, we’re in public.”
“So?”
“So you can’t go around squeezing my butt.”
“Why not?”
Brenna pauses. Several seconds tick by before she shrugs. “You know, I can’t think of a good enough reason.”
“Exactly.” Grinning, I squeeze those juicy ass cheeks again, then give them a light smack before going to take my next turn.
I don’t throw a strike this time. One stubborn pin insists on staying upright, but I knock it over on the second throw. Once again I’m crushing Brenna, and once again she doesn’t care. She makes definite progress, though, her second score nearly doubling her score from the first game. After the final numbers flicker on the screen, we sit on the bench and unwind for a bit.