Changing Course (Wrecked and Ruined #1)(22)

For the first two games, I would pick a random gawking man and stare him down while Jess took her turn. The more beer I drank, the more aggressive my glare became. Eventually, I'm sure they all got the idea. They also probably thought I was insane, but the obvious drooling stopped.

"Well, it could have been the pitcher of beer that you drank by yourself during game four," I answer, watching her flop down onto one of the hard plastic chairs.

"I did not! You drank some too."

"Yes, I drank two sips. Then you stole my beer and chugged it after getting your one-billionth strike of the day. Are you going to tell me where you learned to play like that?"

"No, it’s embarrassing. I'm pretty sure I'm maxed out on humiliation for the year after today."

"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad," I sweetly plead.

"Yes, it can. Don't you try it! Even with those sad puppy dog eyes, I'm still not telling you where I learned my crazy bowling skills." She laughs, throwing a balled-up napkin at me.

"Shall we make a little bet?" I ask, twirling my thumbs like an evil madman.

"Aren't you sick of losing yet?" She laughs so hard at her own joke, she almost rolls out of the chair. Her reaction alone is enough to make me laugh right along with her. This girl is drunk...and beautiful. And drunk. And sexy as hell. And drunk. And so very f*ckable. Did I mention drunk? She isn't in the danger zone, where she is going to be hating her very existence tomorrow. She's in that loose-lipped-say-things-that-will-make-you-cringe-the-next-day stage. I would be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the hell out of seeing her in this state.

Jesse always seems to have a filter when she talks to me. It's as if, she analyzes every word in her mind twelve times before actually spitting out a sentence. Since she started drinking, she hasn't stopped talking. She has officially made the leap from best friend’s little sister, to woman I want to f*ck. Jesus, what the hell am I saying? Am I drunk too?

"So, is that a yes or no to the bet?" I smile, glancing down and catch a glimpse of her peaked chilled nipples.

"You cold, Jess?" I ask, nodding down at her nipples noticeably showing thorough her skimpy excuse for a dress.

I watch her eyes travel down her own body and her cheeks immediately redden. Oh shit! I really am drunk! Why the f*ck would I say that to her? Better yet, when the hell did I lose my filter tonight? Oh God, what else have I said to her without thinking? I frantically try to think of a way to moonwalk out of this conversation. She's uncomfortable, and I'm mortified. We both know it too. It's written all over our faces, but in our drunken states, neither one of us can think of anything to say.



Jesse

OH MY goodness, he just noticed my nipples. Crap. Crap. Crap! What do I even say to that? Brett has been flirting all night. I've caught him checking out my back side on more than one occasion. It took me two full games to learn to stop jumping up and down after every strike. I swear, he literally growled one time after I got back-to-back strikes. We agreed to be friends. At least, I thought we did. The eyes that have been watching me all night, are not those of a friend. They are the eyes of a man who wants to rip your clothes off, and have his dirty way with you. It may be the abundance of alcohol that I've consumed talking, but I'd probably let Brett Sharp do anything he wanted to me right now.

Thankfully, he assumes my hardened nipples are from a chill, but the truth is, I'm turned on like nobody's business. For five games, I have watched his biceps flex every time he picks up the ball. I've watched his firm butt as he saunters up to the lane. Then, I watched his back muscles ripple through his tight black t-shirt as he hurled the ball towards the pins. It's been a spectacular show of hotness and completely worth the unchallenging game.

Finally, after staring at his pecks for a few more seconds, I am able to form a coherent thought.

"One frame. Winner gets to ask one question. Loser is required to answer."

"Deal!" He answers a little too quickly. Especially for a man who has thrown over half his balls in the gutter tonight.

"Ladies first," he motions for me to start.

I walk forward, blowing on my fingers. I need to sober up. I don't think he would be willing to wait a few hours for that to happen though. Unfortunately, it seems the alcohol wins out. In my first turn, I overshoot to the left and only knock over two pins. I try to clear my head as I ready myself for my next turn. I look back and see him leaned back with his legs spread open, one hand thrown around the back of the empty seat next to him, and the other resting on his muscular thigh. I lose any sense of focus that the beer hadn't already stolen. Darn his tight jeans! They leave nothing to the imagination. I do mean absolutely nothing. I can very obviously see something in the outline in his pants. I know exactly which side he has tucked his privates tonight. That is more than enough to cause me to throw my next ball directly into the gutter.

Slowly clapping his hands, he rises from his seat, and stops a few feet in front of me.

"That wasn't very good." He shakes his head and pouts his delicious lips the way a toddler would. It's a good look for him, and if it wasn't for the fact that he's making fun of me, I would have enjoyed the heck out of it.

"Shut up. I'm almost certain my two pins can hold up against your gutter balls."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Watch and learn, Jess. Watch and learn." He taunts, throwing the only decent ball he has bowled all day.