“First of all, Ididn’t want you to know how good I was in case I decided to hustle you.”
“So does thismean I’m safe, Fast Eddie?”
“Ish?” He raisedan eyebrow. “I mean, I’m not gonna show you all my secret moves.”
“How verydisappointing to hear that,” I retorted.
“Also,” he said,getting us back on track, “I figured if you wanted help, you’d ask for it.”
“That is verytrue.” I leaned in closer and whispered, “But you need to know something aboutme and take it to heart.”
He raised aneyebrow. “Tell me.”
“I never ask forhelp. It’s one of my red flags. You have to learn to read my mind, but if youtry to help me do it when I’m not ready, I’ll bite your head off, so you haveto navigate a teeny-weeny emotional minefield on occasion.” I bit my lip.“You’re welcome?”
“Thank you forthe heads up.” Huck laughed. “First we need to get you into a heavier ball.”
“Oh, but I likethis one,” I whined. “It’s pink.”
“Color doesn’tknock pins down. Mass at an accelerated rate does,” he explained. “You needmore mass.”
“Ahh, the wordsevery woman dreams to hear from a man.”
“Are you goingto be this difficult for the entire lesson?”
“Yes, but I’madorable when I’m obstinate, so I have that going for me.”
“Here,” he said,holding out a standard-issue, black bowling ball. “Put your fingers in theholes.”
“Ahh, the wordsevery woman—”
“Just see if theball fits.”
I rolled myeyes, slipping my fingers into the hole. “They fit, but, Huck, it’sugly.”
“It doesn’tmatter. It’ll do the job,” he said. “Now, the first thing you have to do isname your ball.”
“What do youname something that looks like the first solid poop you make after being sickfor three days? You know the kind of poop that makes you so concerned that youschedule an appointment with an oncologist?”
“Wouldn’t youcall a gastroenterologist?”
“Not if yourpoop looks like this.” She nodded to the ball. “I think you go straight to acancer diagnosis.”
“Name it, Daisy,”he growled, but I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
I cocked my headand studied the ball for a few more seconds, then said, “Mr. Bowl Movement.”
“Jesus,” hehissed. “Okay, great. Let it be written.” He positioned himself behind me.“Now, with your stance.”
“Wait a minute,is this just an elaborate ruse so you can pull your smooth guy moves on me?”
His eyebrowsraised in question. “I have smooth guy moves?”
I shrugged. “Idon’t know, do you?”
“I promised Iwasn’t going to hustle you.”
“That’s just thekind of thing a hustler would say.”
