Page 39 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

Mom always said to never settle. That when the time was right, the one would present himself, and it would be like the heavens opening and angels singing. I don’t know where she got that crap. I never saw anything between her and Dad that suggested they ever had that kind of connection, but maybe by the time I was old enough to look for it, they’d been jaded by life and the luster had worn off.

I always remembered Dad as angry and violent with all of us. He never showed any of us, even Mom, and affection, but he must have had his moments if Mom stayed with him for so long.

The fact that Mom still believed in love enough to tell me that gives me hope. That there is someone out there. Hiding apparently very well.

And who better to set me up than my best friend? The person who knows me better than I know myself sometimes.

10

RACHEL

My pink, glittery ball rolls down the lane and slams into the front pin perfectly, sending all ten flying.

“Yes!” I jump up and down and pump my fist in celebration as I make my way back toward where Dan sits, waiting for his turn.

He flashes me a grin and shakes his head. “I never would’ve brought you bowling if I knew you were a ringer.”

I prop my hands on my hips and feign offense. “I am not a ringer.”

He glances up at the digital scorecard and points to it. “Well, your score seems to suggest otherwise.”

If you compare my score to his, maybe, but I’m not about to insult my date and ruin what’s been a really fun night.

I wave him off. “Really, I’m not that good.”

His eyebrows fly up. “So, I just really suck, then?”

I laugh and smack him on the shoulder. “You don’t suck. You’re just…”

One of his sandy-blond eyebrows rises again. “Bowling challenged?”

“Exactly. That’s a great way to put it.”

And he really does have a great sense of humor about it. Most men getting their ass handed to them on a first date would probably be annoyed.

He rises from his seat, grabs his ball, and glances at me over his shoulder. “I have a good feeling about this one.” He winks at me, then lines up in completely the wrong position, and lets his ball go. It glides down the right-hand side of the lane and into the gutter, barely brushing the ten pin. It wobbles and eventually falls. He turns around and fist pumps. “At least I got one.”

I can’t help but laugh at his self-deprecating humor.

Flynn was right. Dan’s a great guy. A really great guy.

And we totally get along. And have a lot in common. And seem to click. At least on a base-level. It’s not like bowling is exactly the place or time to have any deep, meaningful conversations about anything.

The ball return spits out his ball, and he grabs it, lines up again, and manages to take out three pins this time.

I grab my beer and take a swig as he works his way back to me.

He snags his beer and leans against the computer console. “Where did you learn to bowl like this, anyway?”

I glance around the bowling alley and take in all the familiar sights and sounds. The crash of pins. The raucous laughter of teenagers. The smiles and celebrations. The cringes of disappointment. It all brings me back to a much simpler time. One when Mom was still alive and we were still a family—even without Dad there.

“My older brother played a lot of hockey when I was growing up, and the rink was right next to a bowling alley. My mom used to bring me and my little brother over to bowl during his practices, so I didn’t get bored sitting there watching the hockey.”

“Wait a minute…” His eyes widen. “Your last name is Fury…”

Shit.

I should’ve known better than to bring up my family. Now, we’re going to spend the whole night talking about Dad and Bash. “Yup.” I bite my lip and nod.

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