Page 42 of Resisting my Roommate

His head dips closer to my neck, his breath hot on my skin. I take a deep inhale, my body wound tighter than it hasbeen in recent memory. Maybe ever. Despite the somewhat uncomfortable position, I don’t move. Don’t want him to stop touching me. Don’t want him to stop breathing me in. Don’t want to stop feeling his lips so close, a fire igniting deep inside.

After what feels like too short of a time, he guides me back to standing and increases the space between us.

“Go ahead and try it on your own now.”

I take a moment to push down my disappointment from the lack of contact.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah?” I snap my eyes toward his.

“Don’t aim for the center pin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most beginners aim for that center pin. You want to aim for the space between the center pin and the one behind it to the right, since you’re right handed. Trust me.”

“Okay.” I turn from him, standing straight with my eyes focused on the spot he mentioned.

With a deep breath, I go through the motions he taught me, the ball rolling out of my hand and onto the lane without the usual thump and bounce.

My heart races as I watch the ball travel closer and closer to the pins. It grazes the bumper, but doesn’t fall in, knocking down a single pin on the side.

Unable to contain my enthusiasm, I jump up and down, clapping like I just hit a strike instead of one measly pin.

“Good job,” Jude praises with a smile, those damn dimples popping again. “Keep practicing and you’ll be hitting strikes in no time.”

As we continue to bowl over the next few hours, I get a little better. Or maybe it’s the beer loosening me up and making methinkI’m getting better.

Whenever it’s my turn, Jude helps adjust my form or offers me a tip.

And whenever it’s his turn, I can’t help but admire his easy confidence. Not to mention, his ass looks incredible in his jeans as he bends down, the muscles in his arms flexing and rippling.

I never thought bowling could turn me on. That was before I watched Jude Lawrence bowl. Pretty sure this man could make even the most mundane tasks look sexy.

“How did you get into bowling?” I ask after he hits yet another strike.

Show off.

“My dad.” He tips back his bottle, slowly nursing his beer since he’s driving. “He didn’t start bowling until after he was diagnosed with ALS. He’d take us kids on occasion, but wasn’t serious about it until he learned he’d never be able to do it again. After his diagnosis, he had a bucket list of everything he wanted to do.”

“What kind of things were on it?” I ask, wanting to know more about this man who’s obviously been a huge influence on Jude’s life.

“There were all the usual things. Go to Paris. Float in the Dead Sea. See the Aurora Borealis. But he also had some more personal items.”

I lean toward him. “Like what?”

“Like making my mom laugh every day. Letting all of us kids know how much he loved us. Learning to let go of the small stuff,” he says with a wistful smile. “He believed that not every meaningful experience should require a flight or advanced planning. Some bucket list items should be checked off every day.”

A pang of sadness tugs at my heart as I consider the bittersweet memories Jude must have of his father. With eachstory he shares, I learn more and more about Jude. Peel back more and more of his layers.

“I wish I could have met him,” I admit softly.

“He definitely would have liked you.”

A comfortable silence settles between us as we stare at each other for several long moments. Then I clear my throat and stand. “Guess it’s my turn.”

“Yeah.”

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