Make Me Bad(43)

“Yup,” I say before stuffing a whole nacho into my mouth and smiling proudly.

When we make it back to the group, I expect him to reclaim his old spot and go right on ignoring me. Instead, he tells me to scoot over and sits beside me, stealing a nacho. His hip is touching mine on the orange plastic bench. I take a long swig of beer, realizing I need it.

“You look different tonight,” he says as Andy hops up to take his second turn.

“Oh?” I ask, very cool, very confused. Me? Different? How so? “Good different or bad different?”

“Just…different.” He leans back to assess me then reaches for a strand of hair. “I’ve never seen your hair straight.”

I shrug. “Well, don’t get used to it. It took a woman at the mall like an hour to style it like this. I’d never have the patience to do it myself.”

His brows tug together. “You got your hair done for tonight?”

Shit. What? No! What kind of loser gets her hair done for bowling?

I shake my head. “Just needed a haircut,” I lie, and for once I’m grateful it’s biologically impossible for men to tell when a woman has cut her hair. I swear my dad and brother never notice.

“It looks good.”

Three words, not even all that flowery, but he might as well have declared his love with the way my heart is beating.

I smile as I bring my beer back to my lips. He watches me take a sip, and are we the only ones in this bowling alley or does it just feel that way now? I swear he’s about to lean in and tell me something, but then Eli nudges me in the shoulder, announcing it’s my turn.

“Clear the area,” Andy shouts, hands forming a megaphone around his mouth.

“Ha ha ha,” I say, playing along with his joke. “Just watch—I’ll get it this time.”

I do not get it this time. I somehow manage to miss every single pin even though the gutter guards ensure my ball makes it all the way down to the end.

When I retake my seat, Ben nudges me. “That’s impressive. I think it might be harder to not hit a single pin than it is to get a strike.”

His sly smirk all but seals my fate. I spend the precious minutes between my second and third turn sharing nachos with him and praying he’ll say more things that make my stomach dip. Suddenly, I’m up again.

“Ugh, do I have to go?”

It really is embarrassing.

Ben stands and hooks his hands under my arms, forcing me. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”

We all know what that means. We’ve seen the movies. Ben’s going to stand behind me a little too close, touch me a little inappropriately, all in the name of sport. And, of course, because our friends are all mature adults, they whistle and catcall us as Ben moves up behind me.

“Oh yeah, Ben, show her how it’s done,” Andy says.

Ben flips him off.

“Oh, I’m not sure, Ben—do I stand like this?” Arianna mocks and okay, she’s funny, and I like her. Also, how dare she?

“Don’t listen to them,” Ben says, shuffling us toward the lane.

“This is a little cliché, you have to admit.” I smile and glance at him over my shoulder. Whoa—I didn’t realize he was right behind me. His lips are in danger of touching mine. Sure, I’d kind of have to go up on my tiptoes and crane my neck, but still. Someone crank the air in here ASAP.

“I know,” he says with a shrug. “But you really suck and I can’t allow things to continue like this or there’s no hope of us winning.”

He leans down to arrange my feet so one’s staggered in front of the other. Then he loops one arm tightly around my waist so I’m forced to stay right there, pressed against him. His other hand wraps around my forearm so he can guide my arm back, showing me how to take aim before I let go of the ball.

“Got it?” he asks, breath on my neck.

“Show me again.”

“Oh my god.” Kevin laughs. “Did she really just say that?!”

Joke’s on them. When I do eventually roll the ball down the lane, I manage to sink five pins. I turn around and Ben’s there, smiling. I walk toward him to accept his double high fives. His fingers lace through mine and we stay like that for a few seconds longer than necessary. Eyes locked. Hearts pounding.

“Nice job.”

“Thanks. It was all in my form.”

He smiles. “You have really good form.”

Suddenly, we’re not talking about bowling.

Eli whistles. “Okay, just to be clear, that one totally doesn’t count. Ben basically bowled that turn for you.”

One game turns into two, then three. I have a second beer and my technique really improves. In one turn, I manage to knock down six pins. It’s a personal record. Kevin and Eli buy us all another round of nachos and some pepperoni pizza that looks barely edible. Of course, we all attack it like vultures.

“Not fair,” I groan, trying to steal the last slice from Ben. “I barely got any. I had to share mine with Kevin.”

He arches a brow and takes a massive bite. Half the slice is gone.

When he chews, he wears a little smirk.

I narrow my eyes. “Evil.”

He holds it out to me and the gesture is clear: take a bite. It’s nothing, I tell myself. Don’t read into it. I lean forward, eyes locked with his, and take a bite, ensuring I steal the last pepperoni. There’s a little sauce on my bottom lip and I lick it off. He’s wearing an expression I don’t quite recognize, one that makes my spine tingle, so I reach out for our beers and force his into his hand. We both take hefty swigs.