Page 17 of Not My Finest Hour

Or our dates could be the two guys on one of the middle lanes that are chatting with a couple of girls because maybe they thought we weren’t going to show after all. But these two are definitely not our guys—or at least I hope not—because one of the girls just planted a kiss on the guy standing next to her.

As I scan farther down, I don’t see anyone that could be our dates. Except…no. Please tell me those two are not our dates. All the way down on the end lane are two guys who are dressed in competitive bowling attire, and it looks like they brought their own shoes since they’re not the same ones everyone else is wearing. They’re down there fist pumping every time one of them gets a strike. The taller one is up now and…oh, my God…he just kissed his ball before sending it down the lane.

We grab our rental shoes from the counter and find a spot to put them on. The lights are dim in this place, but the music is on point with a nice selection of both current and older pop hits. There’s a full bar which will come in handy if this date takes a turn for the worse.

“Did you text the guys to let them know we’re here?” I ask while lacing up my shoes.

“I just did. I told them that we’re over here putting our shoes on and they’re supposed to be by soon.” Somehow Chelsea manages to look fashionable in her bowling shoes while I feel like I’m wearing clown shoes. I know it’s all in my head, but I swear my feet feel like they’re two sizes too big in these shoes.

“Do these two look like our guys?” I ask, nodding toward two guys headed our way.

Her head turns toward the direction I’m facing, and initially, there’s excitement on her face. Then, just as quickly, that excitement is erased and replaced with dread. “Oh, no,” is all she manages to get out.

“Whose idea was it to go bowling?”

“His,” she groans.

Soon, we’re face-to-face with the two guys in competitive bowling gear. “Hi, I’m Ryder, and this is my roommate, Ian.”

I stand up first and stick my hand out to greet them because Chelsea can’t seem to move. Ryder, the one Chelsea must’ve been speaking to beforehand isn’t bad looking, but the bowling jersey with his name on it that’s plastered with all sorts of corporate sponsors is very distracting. Ryder shakes my hand, and I move my hand in front of Ian to shake his, but he’s not taking me up on it. In fact, Ian is totally ignoring me altogether, and if it weren’t for Ryder elbowing him in the side, I’d probably still be standing here with my hand out. Ian reluctantly takes my hand in his and gives me the worst limp-noodle handshake I’ve ever had. I’m pretty sure my handshake is stronger than his.This should be fun.“I’m Dahlia, and I believe you and my friend Chelsea have talked already.”

Chelsea, finally regaining her composure, stands from her seat and takes on the persona I knew was in there the whole time. It’s the look she gets when she’s going to take a shit situation and turn it into a good one. Her dread is replaced with a beaming smile, and she flicks her hair behind her shoulder and touches Ryder’s arm. “I’m so sorry we were late. Traffic was a nightmare. I hope you weren’t too bored while you were waiting.”

“Nonsense. It gave Ian and me a chance to practice our game. We’re competitive bowlers,” Ryder says, plucking his jersey, drawing our attention to it.

“You don’t say,” I say to myself, but apparently, I wasn’t quiet enough because Ian glares in my direction.

“Did you guys visit the bar yet?” Chelsea asks as we make our way to the end lane where they were playing before.

“No, and we don’t plan on it. Drinking while bowling is hazardous to our game. This isn’t just a hobby for us. It’s serious business,” Ian says, staring in my direction.

I look away from him and seek out the bar because if no one else is going to get a drink, then I’ll go alone. “I’m going to go grab a beer because drinking while bowling is great for my game. In fact, I think alcohol might even help me beat the two of you.” Ian rolls his eyes while Ryder chuckles at my retort. I know I’m totally going to suck at bowling tonight, but I’m determined to at least have some fun while doing it. “Chelsea, are you coming with me, or do you want me to grab you something?”

Chelsea looks up at Ryder, then back at me. “I think I’m going to pass on any alcohol tonight. I don’t want to drink if Ryder isn’t. Maybe I’ll get a soda or something like that later when we get food.”

“Suit yourself,” I reply, then leave the group and head straight to the bar. I order the tallest beer they have and take it back to the lane with me.

When I get back to the lane, Ryder is taking Chelsea through some pre-bowling stretches and exercises. Ian looks like he’s going through his own warm-up routine because he’s touching his toes, then reaching for the sky and wiggling his fingers. I really wish I was on my second drink because this is excruciating to watch.

“You should really stretch before we get started,” Ian says. He spreads his arms and legs out, then touches one hand to the opposite leg, doing windmills like I used to do in elementary school.

I pick up my beer and take a sip, staying seated while I wait for everyone to finish up. “I’m doing enough stretching just by drinking this beer.”

I don’t know why they’re stretching so much. It’s not like this is an actual competition, and I would think that since they were playing before we got here, they should be plenty warmed up.

“Is everyone ready to start?” Ryder asks. All of us either nod or say yes. “Okay, I think we should play as pairs. Ian and Dahlia are a pair, and Chelsea and I will be a pair.”

“That’s a great idea,” Chelsea says. “I think Ian and Dahlia should go first.”

I gesture for Ian to go before me, but he shakes his head and says, “Ladies first.”

I grab the bowling ball and walk to the lane with it. I’m just about ready to let it go when Ian grabs the ball and twists it while my fingers are still in the holes. “What are you doing?” I snarl.

Ian throws me a look like he’s offended that I would question his movements. “You were holding the ball wrong. You would’ve sent the ball straight into the gutter holding it like that.”

Funny, because I thought I was holding the ball just fine. The way he has me holding it feels uncomfortable. “But this feels really awkward to me.”

“Trust me,” he says. Of course Idon’ttrust him. I just met him. Why would I trust him so soon?

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