The second gamewe played was a different story. My thunder, although just as strong, had some healthy competition. Jack had been bluffing with his low score before. He altered his technique, making faster, more powerful shots and staying pretty much level.
The others were loving it, especially when the level of banter between us increased.
“You missed one, Simone. Must’ve been you thinking about my butt that was putting you off.”
I was tempted to douse in him the beer I was holding, but it would’ve been a waste.
“I was wondering if you needed a pay increase so you could afford some better jeans.” That got a few yells and laughs.
“Doesn’t matter what I wear, sweet cheeks, what’s underneath can carry anything.” He turned around and winked again, his wicked grin pretty much throwing heat straight at me.
I should’ve been angry for the way he was hate-flirting with me in front of everyone, but the retorts on my behalf filled me with warmth, especially from the girls. Our bowling battle had become a gender war. The beer and shots that had been distributed – I had no idea who had bought them – had levelled us, reminding me a little of when I’d been at college and had hung out in a cellar bar where the music had been acoustic and the ambiance alternative.
The shot rejected, I made strikes on my last three turns, pipping Jack by one point to win. When I checked the scoreboard, a wave of nausea thumped me.
Memories resurfacing.
Old words bile in my throat.
“I guess I’m cooking you breakfast.”
Then I noticed his smile. It was like he’d won.
“Sim, shall we grab some air?”
“I’m…”
“Everyone’s heading to the bar for snacks and shots. You’ve gone pale.”
He’d noticed. When you were the one in charge, people didn’t notice. They saw your role and not the person who filled it. I couldn’t take days off because no one could cover my duties. I couldn’t have personal issues that got in the way of work because I couldn’t set that example, even though it was real life and I got that. So the mask became fixed; the façade became fast.
“I’m okay.”
“Humour me. You saw the scoreboard and you looked like you caught plague.”
His hand pressed the small of my back just above my ass and I realised we looked like a couple.
I felt like more of a couple than I had at most points in both my marriages.
* * *
Outside was a typical London night.Things didn’t stop here. Now was the hour of the night workers and the lost, the people starting and finishing shifts and those who worked in leisure industries. It was the time of the lonely, those going home alone and those who couldn’t sleep. And the broken.
“I didn’t lose on purpose the second time.”
“You did the first?”
He laughed. We rested our backs against the wall. The night had started to get a bite to it. The beginnings of winter.
“I played shit on purpose. Wanted to make the second game fun. Competitive.”
“It worked. You’re still making me breakfast.” I tried to keep the words light.
“Simone, you looked like you saw a ghost in there.”
I shrugged. If someone was to offer me a cigarette, I’d have taken it.
“Can I cook you breakfast at yours? And I don’t mean that as a proposition.”
