Page 18 of Not My Finest Hour

I position my feet and pull my arm back, then forward, releasing the ball as I do so. As the ball travels down the lane, it teeters dangerously close to the gutter, narrowly avoiding it. The ball makes contact with six pins, knocking down five right away, then the sixth takes its time, wiggling and moving, until it finally topples over.

“Not bad,” I say, then reach for another ball.

“Not bad? That was terrible,” Ian says. “Not bad is knockingat leasteight pins down, then taking the other two on your next turn. I really hope you can get a spare out of this.”

I look around at Chelsea and Ryder to see if they heard Ian’s harsh remarks, but the two of them are off in their own little world talking to one another. Ignoring Ian, I pick up another ball and send it down the lane. It misses all four remaining pins. All in all, despite what Ian said, I don’t think I did too badly since I haven’t played in years.

Ian grabs his own personal bowling ball and stands at the front of the lane. He turns toward me and says, “Your feet were wrong on that last throw. That’s why you missed all the pins. Watch where I’m standing and how I’m holding the ball.”

I pretend to care about what he’s showing me and watch as he takes his shot. He throws his ball, and it goes down the lane, hitting all the pins in the process. A strike.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Ian says with a smug smile on his face.

Great.What a fun time this is.

We lost.Ian and I lost to Chelsea and Ryder, and it wasn’t even close. I never got a strike and only got a couple spares. The rest of the time it was me knocking down only a handful of pins each time. Ian spent the moments he wasn’t playing telling me how I should stand, throw the ball, and how everything I did was wrong. Ian got almost all strikes, but that wasn’t enough to offset my terrible score. I’m surprised at how well Chelsea did. I never knew she could bowl so well.

While Chelsea and Ryder are at the bar getting something, probably non-alcoholic, to drink, Ian sidles up to me. “I told you drinking while bowling wasn’t a good idea,” he says. “You didn’t take it seriously enough. And you didn’t listen to or implement a single thing I said. I was trying to help you.”

“Oh, is that what you were trying to do? I’m sorry. I guess I had it all wrong. The whole time I thought you were trying to belittle me, and show me what a great bowler you are, and how you know so much more than I do.” I don’t sugarcoat my annoyance at his behavior. I’ve been humiliated plenty of times, but I’ve never had someone I just met treat me so terribly in front of my friend.

This was supposed to be a fun time, something to take my mind off Justin, but all this date has done is make me realize that finding someone else is going to be a lot harder than I thought. I didn’t think my date tonight would amount to much, but it would’ve been nice to leave here wanting to see the guy again. Instead, I’d be happy if I never saw Ian ever again, not even in passing on the street or in the grocery store.

Ian’s harsh expression softens. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. It’s just that bowling is really important to me, and I can get a little carried away sometimes. If you want to play again, I promise I won’t say anything, and we can just have fun.”

So thereisa heart in that uptight body of his after all. Okay, maybe if I ever see Ian outside of here, I could spare a hello. And I suppose if I was feeling generous that day, I could smile at him.

“I appreciate that, but I think I’m done bowling for the night,” I say, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “I could go for some food though. You hungry?” It’s my way of salvaging this night. Maybe if I can get him away from the lanes and over to where they serve the food, we can talk about something other than bowling. Maybe we’ll find something in common with one another and can bond over that.

Ian hesitates, probably weighing the two options in his mind. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’m going to go bowl some more,” he says, then vacates the area.

And that’s my cue to leave.

Across the bowling alley I spot Chelsea with Ryder. They’re standing at a table with a couple of sodas in front of them. I walk over to where they are and get Chelsea’s attention. I direct her away from Ryder, far enough so he won’t overhear what we’re saying.

“I’m ready to go,” I say.

Chelsea looks confused, like she can’t understand why I would want to leave. “Already? But I thought we could get some food and play another game.”

I shake my head. “Not happening. It’s time to go now.”

“But why? I thought you were having a good time.”

“You think getting yelled at and critiqued is a good time? Maybe what you should be asking yourself is why you didn’t stick up for me once.”

“I’m sorry. I was talking with Ryder most of the time and didn’t realize Ian was being so nasty.”

I cock my head to the side. “You seriously had no idea what was going on?”

“I could only hear bits and pieces of what was being said. But we’re sticking together tonight. If you’re ready to go, then I’ll go tell Ryder and we can be on our way.”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” I say with a nod. “I’ll wait outside for you.” I don’t bother saying goodbye to Ryder or Ian and return my rental shoes, then wait outside for Chelsea. Minutes later, she’s back by my side.

“Hey, you wouldn’t be interested in going to a bowling tournament next weekend, would you?” she asks, a hopeful expression on her face. I stare blankly back because I don’t want to think about bowling for a very long time. “Ian will be competing in it too,” she adds, as though that piece of information would sway me into going. It has just the opposite effect.

“You’re on your own on this one. And in case things don’t work out with Ryder and you end up finding someone else on that dating app of yours, don’t ask me to double date.”

ChapterEight

---