Page 15 of The Way We Were(wolf)

Well, that’s nice.

So was his forearm, which she just now realized she still had a hold of. Warmth radiated from his skin, and it took every ounce of willpower in Lucy’s petite body to remove herself from something that was equal parts soothing and exciting. But she was finding it harder and harder to keep her distance from him, especially after this afternoon. What with the moment they’d shared and the way he leaned in—who was she kidding? She’d leaned in too—her goosebumps got goosebumps just thinking about it.

“Thank you,” she said as she held her wrist with the other hand, not trusting her body to behave itself and not grab his arm again.

But also, why was it so warm?

“You’re on lane thirteen. Here are your shoes.” The attendant—whose nametag said he was, indeed, named Sam—plopped the crimes against fashion on the counter with a hefty thud. “Balls are that way.” He scowled like these bowling balls had pulled a Regina George and personally victimized him at some point during his bowling-attendant career.

“Thanks so much,” Eric offered with a smile so contradictory to the customer service they’d received. But Lucy wasn’t surprised. Eric was kind to everyone—something she’d noticed her first day at work when he walked an elderly customer out of Hairy Stylez and into the monsoon in the parking lot. He’d held his personal umbrella over the woman while he got soaked to the bone. And then there was the other night, when the cashier at Crafty Cathy’s needed a price check on one of their garlands that was missing a tag. Eric had made it halfway through the store before the woman paged an associate for help.

There was a compassionate side to this man, a softness that was a stark contrast to the forearms Lucy couldn’t stop thinking about. But she needed to. She’d been down this road before, and she wasn’t about to have a replay of what happened the last time she’d stayed in Wheeling.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Eric asked as he peered up at her through long lashes no man had a right to have as he tied his shoes.

Not your forearms.That was what she’d wanted to say. But she wasn’t a liar, and as far as she knew, it wasn’t Opposite Day.

“Oh, how it’s a shame Stella and Bobby backed out tonight.” Stella had sent the text just as they were walking to the entrance of the building. Under any other circumstances, Lucy would have chalked this up to another one of her cousin’s matchmaking schemes, flaking out so it would be just the two of them at the bowling alley. But Stella and Bobby had been arguing a lot more lately—which was saying something because they’d always been a bit of a feisty couple. Not that Lucy could say much, seeing as her dating experience was minimal. Bobby just didn’t bring out the best in Stella. And while her cousin claimed they “challenged” each other, Lucy didn’t think relationships should be that…well,challenging.“And now I’m just wondering what bowling ball to use.”

They stood in front of the racks, and she watched Eric heft balls like they were made of feathers and not…concrete? What were bowling balls made of, anyway? Not important. Not when her thoughts were better served for things like remembering not to stare at the man like he was a giant pumpkin roll.

She settled on an eight-pound ball, a single step up from the blaze-orange kiddie-sized ones. And since they had to walk almost half the length of the building to get back to their lane, she was grateful for the weight she’d chosen—kind of. Her linguine-noodle arms acted a little angry that she hadn’t chosen the child-sized one if the burning was anything to go by.

And then there was Eric, strolling along, the ball at his side, swinging it with ease. She figured one’s strength was proportional to one’s size. So, by that logic, Eric’s ball was a 150-pounder. Meanwhile, Lucy mentally counted down the number of lanes they still had to pass until they were back at lucky number thirteen.

Smile, Luce. If he asks a third time if you’d like him to carry your ball, it will be embarrassing. But also…next time he asks, let him do it, k?

“Whoa, buddy. Be careful,” Eric warned as a sandy-blond-haired child, who couldn’t have been much older than four, cut in front of them. He bobbed and weaved his way through the crowd like a running back racing toward the end zone, catching many of the patrons off guard.

Lucy looked around the bowling alley. “He’s going to get hurt. I wonder if anyone knows he’s on the loose.”

The words had only left her lips when the pint-sized preschooler ran back in their direction at blazing speed, yelled, “Cowabunga!”—a shock he even knew anything about The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at his age, unless he was just embracing one decade of the bowling alley—and jumped on top of one of the ball racks. With a deep squat, arms stretched behind him to muster some momentum, his feet left the wooden rungs as he flew through the air.

And there was nothing for any of them to do but watch.

A gasp escaped Lucy’s lips when she saw him.

With speed that would have made The Flash turn green with envy, Eric ate up the several yards separating them from the child like a contestant in a competitive-eating contest. Not quite reaching the daredevil in time, the child’s feet hit the concrete flooring with a loud crack. Lucy’s stomach churned, regretting the salad she’d eaten earlier as she was positive her stomach was about to hit the eject button. She never could handle medical emergencies. She couldn’t even watch a medical sitcom without getting the shakes. But this was so much worse.

When Eric moved, she saw something she wished she hadn’t. The lower half of the young boy’s leg was bent at a right angle. And it didn’t matter how much she rubbed her eyes. That image was stuck in her mind like a splinter she couldn’t remove, likely burned in her memory for all eternity.

“Aaaaaaah!” the child wailed, and she couldn’t help but turn around. Crouched next to the boy’s outstretched legs, Eric quickly placed his hands on the injured area, his eyes roaming the space around them as though he was making sure the coast was clear. Lucy didn’t know what to make of his expression, so steady, lacking any movement, eyes unblinking.

“Eric, do you need me to call for—”

His shoulders rose to his ears, and he blew out a breath, his eyes closing so tightly wrinkles dug into his smooth face. And then he stood, all tension exiting his body like air from a popped balloon. The boy jumped to his feet, running to the outstretched arms of the woman racing their way.

“Stephen Anthony! What on earth were you doing?” Her tone said she wanted to ground him until he was fifteen, but her glassy eyes conveyed immense relief.

“You know boys,” Eric said with his hands on his hips as he shrugged his shoulders. “We all want to be superheroes at some point in our lives, right?”

“But—” Lucy rubbed her forehead, images of the past sixty seconds flashing in her mind like clips in a movie trailer. Eric’s brows shot to his hairline, and in two strides, he stood at Lucy’s side. “Is he—”

“A handful?” the mother asked as she held her son in a tight embrace. “Little Stevie is more like two handfuls. I’m so lucky you were here to help him. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It was nothing,” Eric replied as he placed his hand at the base of Lucy’s spine, sending a wave of heat from the point of contact through her entire body. The gesture almost made her forget what she’d just seen.

Almost.

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