Page 78 of Road Trip with a Vampire
I rolled my eyes. “You absolutely do not havethings. Otherthan finding something to eat, I suppose. But you can do that at a bowling alley as well as anywhere else.”
Peter opened his mouth to argue the point. Then closed it again, shaking his head. He let out a resigned sigh, and I knew I’d won.
“One hour,” he warned.
I grinned. “One hour,” I agreed.
“What are the terms of this bet?” he asked. “I want to know what I’ll win when you lose.”
“I am not going tolose,” I said as tauntingly as I could manage. “But how about this. If, after one hour of bowling, you end up having fun, you have to stand on one of these chairs and announce to everyone that I, Zelda Turret, am the smartest person you’ve ever known.” I pointed to one of the four vacant chairs lined up in a sad little row at the bar.
That earned a surprised laugh from him. “I’m convinced enough that I’ll win bynotenjoying myself that I can agree to that. But when I don’t end up having fun”—his eyes twinkled with challenge—“what do I win?”
I thought that over. “If you win the bet because you’re too much of a snob to know how to have fun, youdon’thave to announce to everyone how brilliant I am.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a prize.”
“We can hammer out the details later.”
“No.” His voice had turned unexpectedly serious. “I never agree to a deal without knowing all the terms first. Not ever.”
I stared at him. He’d just made another blanket statement about his past patterns of behavior. From the look of surprise on his face, he’d just realized this as well.
“Not ever?” I asked tentatively.
Peter stared at me, his eyes wide. “No. I…” He trailed off. Swallowed. “Never.”
If he was remembering something about his past, his stunned-silent reaction suggested it was not a happy memory. I nearly asked him what it was, but his closed-off expression had me thinking better of it.
If he wanted to share, he’d let me know.
“Let’s go rent our shoes,” I suggested, steering our conversation back on track. “When you decide on a prize for winning, let me know.”
He didn’t respond but followed along wordlessly as I made my way to the shoe rental counter.
The middle-aged man behind the counter wore a Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt, a black plastic name tag that saidJonathan, and a seriously bored expression. He was staring at something on his phone when we approached.
“Shoe size?” he asked, not even bothering to look up. I couldn’t blame the man for being bored. His job had to be as dull as watching paint dry.
“I’m a women’s seven,” I said. I turned to Peter. “What size are you?”
“Eleven,” he said. And then to me he murmured, “That’s what’s printed inside my shoes.”
At the sound of Peter’s voice, Jonathan snapped to sudden and abrupt attention. When he saw Peter, he took a reflexive step backwards, eyes very wide. “What do you want?”
I glanced at Peter from the corner of my eye. He looked as confused as I was.
“To…bowl?” He sounded totally unconvinced.
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You aren’t here to cause trouble?”
What in the world? Peter looked unhappy to be here, sure. But did he really look so pissy that it justified this guy assuming the worst?
I tried to laugh it off. “Itoldyou that you needed to smile more,” I said to Peter in the cheeriest voice I could manage. “You always look so threatening when you scowl.”
Peter only grunted unhelpfully in return.
Turning back to Jonathan, I added, “Seriously, though. We just want to bowl.” When he continued to look suspicious, I leaned in closer to him and added in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Look, I know he’s a total grump, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. My boyfriend’s only here because I wanted him to come.”
