“Couples competition!” he says, grinning like this is the best idea he’s ever had. “Prizes for the top three teams. Bragging rights for everyone else.”
Chloe glances at me. “You bowl, right?”
“Define ‘bowl.’”
“Oh no.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. How hard can it be?”
As it turns out, it is not, in fact, fine.
My first ball careens into the gutter so fast it’s almost impressive. The second one follows its predecessor like they’re magnetically attracted to failure.
Tyler Anderson is in the lane next to us with his girlfriend, Ava, and he’s laughing so hard he has to lean on the ball return.
“Kane!” he shouts. “You’re supposed to hit the pins, man!”
“Thanks, Torch. Super helpful.”
Chloe is trying not to laugh. Failing spectacularly.
“It’s not funny,” I mutter.
“It’s a little funny.”
Derek appears at our lane, arms crossed, that smug captain smile plastered on his face. “Thought athletes were supposed to be coordinated, Kane.”
“Different skill set,” I say through gritted teeth. “Very different.”
“Clearly.” He turns to Chloe. “You should probably teach him. Before he breaks something.”
Chloe picks up her ball—a sparkly purple thing that looks like it belongs in a kid’s party—and steps up to the lane.
She bowls a perfect strike.
The pins explode like she just fired a cannon at them. The crash echoes through the venue.
Everyone stops. Stares.
“Holy—” Tyler starts.
“That was incredible,” I finish.
Chloe turns around, grinning—a real grin, not the careful smile she’s been wearing all day. “I was in a league in college.”
“Of course you were.”
Derek’s smirking. “Looks like your girlfriend is carrying the team, Kane.”
“I’m aware.”
But watching Chloe light up like this—confident, happy, unselfconscious—is worth the humiliation.
She walks back to me, still smiling. “Want me to show you?”
“Please.”
She picks up my ball, demonstrates the approach, the release, the follow-through. Her hands move confidently, precisely. This is her element.
