Page 66 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“Size seven,” I tell the clerk while Nate requests his shoes. Wrinkling my nose, I sit down to put on the rental shoes. “Bowling shoes have to be the ugliest footwear ever created.”

Nate smirks, sitting beside me to lace up his own. “That’s part of the charm.”

“You know,” he says as we find our lane, “drumming is all about rhythm and control. Bowling’s not that different.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Are you trying to psych me out?”

“Just managing expectations.” He picks up a ball, testing its weight. “Wouldn’t want you to be too disappointed when I win.”

I grab a ball of my own. “Prepare to be destroyed,” I sass with a wink. Turning, I take a deep breath, focusing, and release the ball in a smooth motion.

It rolls down the lane… and hooks at the last second, knocking over only three pins.

“Damn.”

Nate chuckles. “Nice form.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m just warming up.” I pick up my spare ball, determined to make the second shot count. I roll it, this time keeping my wrist steady, and the ball veers slightly but manages to knock down four more pins.

I put my hands on my hips. “Not my best round. But it’s early.”

Nate strolls up beside me, his expression annoyingly smug. “My turn.”

He picks up his ball, takes a step, and releases it with practiced ease.

I watch, horrified, as it rolls perfectly down the center and crashes into all ten pins.

“Are you kidding me?”

He turns, grinning. “Huh. That was easier than I remember.”

I groan. “You didn’t tell me you were good at this.”

“You never asked.”

Two frames in, and I’m starting to worry. His form is frustratingly perfect, each roll smooth and controlled. I’m not terrible, but...

Once he’s ahead by at least twenty points, I’m grumbling under my breath every time he lands another perfect shot.

“This is so unfair,” I huff, planting my hands on my hips. “I should never have made that bet before I saw you play.”

Nate leans in, his voice low and teasing. “Scared of losing, Lace?”

I swallow hard. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, something warm and distracting.

“I’m not scared,” I lie. “Just… reevaluating my strategy.”

His lips twitch like he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me. “Uh-huh.”

I glare at him, then pick up my ball. “Watch and learn, drummer boy.”

I take a deep breath, line up my shot, and... roll another perfect gutter ball.

When we reach the final frame, I’ve improved, but Nate’s still crushing me. He lines up his last shot, and I know before the ball even leaves his hand that it’s going to be perfect.

Strike.

“That’s the game,” he says, turning to me with an arrogant grin that makes heat pool low in my stomach. His eyes darken as he steps closer, and suddenly, the tacky bowling alley feels incredibly intimate. “Ready to pay up?”

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