Loving Him Off the Field (Santa Fe Bobcats #2)(27)

Ernie, her favorite teammate, nudged her shoulder. “You all right, kid?”

He often called her “kid,” as she was the youngest on the team. Second youngest in the league, actually. At twenty-six, she was less than half the age of most of the participants. Many were retirees, or people who had been bowling for decades, before it was retro-cool. She didn’t mind. It was like having a huge group of grandparents, aunts, and uncles. As much as she missed her own parents, the league had become a pseudo-family for her over the last few years.

Aileen tightened the Velcro on her wrist wrap, then flexed her fingers. “I’m okay.”

“You’ve been checking the door every two minutes for the first two games. Expecting someone?” Ernie sat down and propped one spindly leg—clad in khakis with a sharp crease—on the seat next to him. Their teammates, Cindy and Al, a married couple in their late forties with an empty nest and a zest for their new hobby, were discussing the best way to attack the seven-ten split.

“What, for bowling league?” she scoffed. “I don’t need my own cheering squad. I’m good enough without it.” She made a show of buffing her nails on her polyester shirt with her name sewn on the pocket.

“Everyone needs a cheering section.” Ernie watched her, his faded blue eyes so insightful it made her gut hurt. She debated, just for a moment, spilling the beans about her problems.

Then her problem walked in the door.

He wore sunglasses, even in the dark alley, and a hoodie with the hood scrunched up around his neck. Not quite over his head, but up high enough to detract people from seeing his face. His hands were stuffed in his jeans pockets and he was scanning the area looking for . . . well, her, she assumed.

The butterflies in her stomach—the same ones that had been making lazy circles since she’d left the parking lot yesterday—went into overdrive. As his gaze passed over her lane, she held up her hand in a little wave. He must have passed over her for a second, then zeroed back in on her. With a slow gait, as if he had nothing else to do, he sauntered over.

“Hey,” she said, somehow more nervous and less so all at once now that he’d shown up. “Hope you aren’t this punctual to practice or you’ll be out of a job.”

“I had stuff. Team meeting. Sorry.” He looked around, then sighed and shoved the glasses up over his head. “Dark in here.”

“Part of the ambiance. Haven’t you been bowling before?” He shrugged one shoulder, which made her wonder if that was a yes, or a no. “I’ve just got one game left. If you don’t want to stay, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

Yes, it will.

But that wasn’t his problem.

“I’ll stay. I’ve never seen a bowling league in action.” He looked around and pointed to an empty seat. “Can I sit here, or is there a special spectator’s section?”

She slapped his arm. “Don’t be sarcastic. Yes, you can sit there. Don’t distract me, and don’t embarrass me.”

As he cocked a brow in question, she just grinned and walked over to the ball return. Ernie was waiting.

“That your boyfriend?”

She didn’t look over her shoulder. “Just a guy. Don’t worry about him.”

Duty bound to ignore the request, Ernie looked over her shoulder and waved at Killian. Aileen groaned and picked up her ball. Al and Carol were still discussing—fighting—her last missed opportunity in the previous frame and didn’t even notice they had been joined by someone else. They probably wouldn’t, as they were typically more concerned with each other than anyone else around them. But Ernie . . .

“Okay, look, he’s the subject of a piece I’m doing. It’s for work. Please don’t make it awkward?”

Ernie shook his head. “Someone for work is showing up to cheer you on at league? Doesn’t seem all that professional.”

“He’s not . . . I mean, he is, but . . . it’s complicated,” she finished. “Now scoot so I can take my turn.” She waited for Ernie to slide over so she could pick up her bowling ball. The custom-made ball fit her fingers like a glove, and the design she’d asked for always made her smile, even on her crappiest days.

As she took her spot on the line, she breathed in once, closed her eyes, and let the breath out in a slow, controlled motion. When her eyes opened again, the world had narrowed to ten white pins, and the long alley to get there. Knees bent, she took her approach and took the shot, doing a mental fist pump when she saw all ten pins crash down. Doing the actual fist pump would be more her style . . . but Killian was watching and she’d be damned if she made this an even dorkier experience than it had to be.

Ernie gave her a quick nod of approval and a pat on the back, and both Carol and Al pulled their heads up long enough to give her some acknowledgement. She lifted one shoulder in a no big deal gesture, then walked back to Killian. Except it was a big deal for her. She was okay, but she wasn’t amazing. Every strike was a reason to celebrate.

“Nice shootin’, Freckles.” He moved over an inch so she could sit beside him. Their thighs brushed on the plastic chairs that gave no room and even less comfort. “When you said bowling league, I thought you were kidding, to be honest. This is serious stuff.”

“It can be. The league ranges in people who are in it more for the beer and the companionship than the game, and those who are ready to sign up for their pro card and start grabbing sponsors.”