Page 46 of Storm in a Teacup
“Yep.”
Once Ben’s shoes are on, he offers his hand to me again. “Let’s go pick out our balls. Find you a purple one.”
I let him lead me to where the balls are lined up for our choosing. “Think we can find you one the color of sunset?”
He laughs loudly as he locates a pink-and-orange-hued ball. “Looks like the birthday boy is in luck!”
Next to it, a deep purple one sits.
I grab it, holding it with both hands as I trail behind Ben on our way back to his friends.
Ben is up first. First bowl is a gutter ball. The next, he manages to hit one pin. When he does, he pumps his arms in the air and shouts, “Yes!”
“Amazing,” I say as we swap places. I bring my ball back, then swing forward, releasing it. It rolls down the center of the lane, striking the pins and…
Ben shouts, “Strike! Damn. Youaregood.”
“I told you!” I revel in the compliment as I walk back to the table, passing Rachel as she goes up for her turn.
We progress through all of our turns until it’s Ben’s again. He manages to hit two pins this time—and again, he celebrates like he got a strike.
As I go to take my turn, I say, “Youarebad at bowling.”
He chuckles. “I know.”
“Why do you like it so much?”
“You don’t have to be good at something tolike it.”
I suppose that’s true. I take my turn and get another strike. I beam at Ben as I walk back to the table.
“Bowling empress,” he says as he does a little bow in his seat.
“‘Empress’ is quite the title.”
We continue to go through our rotation. I’m winning with Callum close behind. Ben is losing. Badly. He is in such a good mood despite it.
“You know,” David says, “we have been sitting here for nearly an hour with no drinks and no food in front of us. Maybe it’s the American in me, but what’s the point of bowling as an adult if you’re not going to drink crappy beer and eat crappy food? Ben, you want to help?”
Ben’s mouth opens, but no response comes, his eyes growing wide with panic. I jump in, “How about I help? The birthday boy shouldn’t be fetching drinks.”
Ben’s mouth closes, and he nods before saying, “I do like to be serviced.”
“Say that a different way,” I advise with a pat on his arm.
His focus falls on me, eyes deep, and in a low, growling voice, he says, “I do like to be serviced.”
My cheeks grow hot as I clear my throat, standing up from the table. “I meant, use different phrasing.”
Isla chuckles. “He’s lucky it’s his birthday.”
David leads the way up to the bar. As we wait in the short queue, he asks quietly, “How is he? Really?”
“Getting better.” I purse my lips before I ask, “How are you?”
He laughs humorlessly. “Getting better.” He shakes his head. “Ben said you know everything?”
“I do.”
