Page 43 of Resisting my Roommate

I grab my ball and walk toward our lane, lining myself up.

Without a single tip or correction from Jude, I end up knocking down more pins than I ever have, leaving only three standing.

“Not trying to make you nervous or anything,” Jude says as the automatic system clears the fallen pins, returning the others to their place, “but you have a pretty good opportunity for a spare.”

I glance to the end of the lane, noting the pins left are all in a cluster on the left side.

“You see those arrows on the lane?” He approaches, pointing to a series of brown markings painted on the wood.

I nod.

“Try to send the ball down the second one from the left. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” He squeezes my arm.

I turn back toward the lane, focusing on the spot Jude instructed. I shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s not like this game matters. But I want to impress Jude.

And I want to prove to myself I can do this.

I briefly close my eyes, practicing some of my breathing techniques from yoga. When I open them again, I pull the ball back and it slides easily off my fingers, heading down the lane.

Right down the second arrow.

I straighten, holding my breath as the ball turns over. And over. And over.

When it hits the pins, the clatter echoes around me, every pin falling…

Except one.

But the one remaining wobbles.

Left. Right. Left.

I don’t breathe. Don’t think. Just watch that damn pin, begging it to fall.

When it finally does, I shriek, “I did it!”

Without thinking, I run toward Jude and throw my arms around him. His hand goes to my back, and he pulls me against him, his touch sending ripples through me. When I feel his breath against my neck, my laughter instantly dies, my pulse increasing.

“Great job, Abbey,” he murmurs.

I pull back slightly and meet his eyes. The warmth in them makes my heart do a stupid little flip. His gaze dips to my lips, like it did in his truck earlier tonight. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Iwanthim to. Want him to close that tiny gap between us. Want him to forget about everything holding him back and just do it.

But like in the truck earlier, the realization of what he’s about to do hits and he releases me, taking a step back.

Even with space between us, the tension in the air is still charged. Electric. On the brink of combusting.

“Guess you’re not so bad at bowling after all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I swallow down the renewed wave of disappointment. “I had a good coach.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ABBEY

The crisp scent of citrus surrounds me as I carefully return the contents to their rightful place in the freshly cleaned refrigerator. My hands are slightly rough and my arms ache from scrubbing every inch of this townhouse from top to bottom.

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