Page 19 of Tackle

Emerson snorted. “Unappealing is being polite. These things are hideous.”

“Tell you what, if after today you like bowling enough to want to go again, we’ll get you a pair of cute shoes too.”

It wasn’t a matter of if she would like bowling, but whether she could ever do it without humiliating herself. She didn’t share that though.

Oz stood after tying his laces. “Let’s find you a ball.”

There was a wall of them and her eye went right to a pretty purple one with silver streaks running through it.

Oz shook his head. “That one’s too light.”

“Uh?”

“It’s only nine pounds. You’ll never knock any pins over with that.”

She reluctantly put it back on the rack.

“Give this a try.” He held out a boring, solid black ball that was covered with white scuff marks.

Her wrinkled nose must have been a dead giveaway on how she felt about it because he chuckled. “Okay, we’ll keep looking.”

They settled on an iridescent yellow ball that was eleven pounds and had the right sized finger holes. If she got any good at bowling, she was buying herself a ball too.

“Ladies first.” Oz had typed their names into the computer. They were displayed overhead on a large screen along with the score. Another reason to be thankful they had the place to themselves. Only Oz and Derek, behind the counter, would see the big, fat goose egg next to her name.

She walked her ball up to the little red arrows on the wooden lane, took two steps, swung her arm back, and threw.

And… The ball promptly landed in the gutter.

Chapter Seven

“What am I doing wrong?” Looking over her shoulder, Emerson’s lips pressed into a cute-as-fuck, kissable pucker that made his dick twitch.

Down boy.

Oz was playing the long game, but his dick hadn’t gotten the memo. Too bad because Emerson was meant to be savored.

They were halfway through their first game and she had a total score of fifteen, having just thrown her fifth gutter ball at the top of the sixth frame. Oz hated to admit it, but she was, in fact, a bad bowler—beers or no beers. He’d been watching and knew what she was doing wrong. But after witnessing a few subtle side-eyes, he’d been waiting for her to ask for help. From all that he’d seen, she was fiercely independent and he didn’t want to step on her toes.

Standing, he met her at the ball return. “You’re not keeping your foot and hand straight.” He reached for her ball as it popped out of the machine and handed it to her. “Come on, let me show you.”

Placing his hands on her hips, he positioned her how he wanted then leaned forward until his head was level with hers. He got a whiff of something floral and fruity.

“Your hair smells good,” he murmured close to her ear, biting his tongue on the rest of that thought. A bowling alley probably wasn’t the best place to ask if she smelled that good all over.

Staring fixedly ahead, her eyes on the pins at the end of the lane, she held perfectly still, except for the slight rise and fall of her chest that seemed to have picked up pace. “It’s my hair serum.”

“Never heard of it,” he mumbled distractedly, engrossed in the tiny bit of bared skin her blouse exposed on her shoulder.

“I use it to help fight humidity. It smooths my hair.” Her words came out almost robotic. Was she as affected by him as he was her?

He moved his head a bit closer until his cheek brushed the silky strands. “Is that why it’s always so shiny?”

She turned her head a fraction. Just far enough his lips brushed the smooth skin by her ear. “You’ve noticed that my hair is shiny?”

“I’ve noticed everything about you.”

“You have?”

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