Page 24 of The Game

I grab her hand, because there’s an irresistible urge to touch her gripping me, but a hug feels like it might be a bit too much.

“Fantastic job. Where’d you learn to bowl like that?”

Her eyes are sparkling under the multi-colored lights sweeping the alley. “I was on a bowling league growing up.” She smacks her hands over her face, sliding her fingers open a crack to look at me. “Does that sound as incredibly dorky to you as it does to me?”

I nod. “Yes, but I love it. I’ve got my share of dorky hobbies, so I’d never judge.”

“Good. I mean, it’s a chore being seen with a hockey player, but I’m willing to push through if you are.”

“Uh huh. Is that so?”

Her soft hand squeezes mine, feeling just about perfect against my fingers.

“Yup. But I guess I’ll just have to bear with it.”

“Good to hear. You ready to head home?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“We’re out guys. Thanks for the fun time.” I wave the ugly shoes at them with my free hand.

“You don’t want to keep the party going? We’re heading over to Wright’s,” Grant says.

“Nah. Not tonight. Unless you want to?” I turn to Jazz.

“I’m good. This was great, but I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. I should get home.”

While the thought of more socializing is exhausting, the last time I went to Wright’s, I ran into Charlene. “Are you sure? It might be a good idea to at least make a brief appearance as a couple in a public place. Especially one where the hockey team is known to hang out.”

She pauses, nibbling on her lip, and I can see the conflict on her face. She’s thinking of saying yes, but if she does, I feel like she’ll be just caving to the pressure.

“Umm. I guess I could go for one drink.”

It’s written all over her face now, lips pressed together in a thin line, shoulders tense. She’s saying yes because she feels obligated, not because she really wants to.

“Don’t worry about it. We can do it another time.” I feign a yawn that turns into a real one. “I’m pretty tired myself.” It’s not a lie.

There’s gratitude shining in her eyes that I don’t deserve.

We don’t say too much on the way home, but I get out to walk her to the front entrance of her apartment building.

I throw an arm over her shoulder when she shivers. The temperature dropped while we were at the bowling place, and a slight sprinkling of rain has us hustling up the walkway.

I follow her through the unlocked glass door, waiting while she fumbles in her big bag for her keys.

“Need some help? I think Grant is taking some archeology classes.”

She looks up from her scrabbling, blowing a bit of hair off her face. “What?”

I shake my head at her, pressing my lips together to control the laugh. “You look like you might need some specialty tools to find anything in that bag. What are you keeping in there? A guitar?”

The look she gives me could probably freeze my balls off if she really meant it, but then her lips twitch up too, and the frosty glare melts into mirth.

“You never know what you’re going to need. Always be prepared and all. Isn’t that what the boy scouts say? Ha.” She pulls her keys out of her bag with a jingle, shaking them at me triumphantly.

My attention is pulled from the keys back to her face. That killer smile of hers is crinkling the corners. It knocks the breath right out of my chest.

I lean in a little closer, drawn to her warmth, lifting a hand to sweep that one errant strand of black hair behind her ear. “I was never a boy scout. I wouldn’t know.”

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