Jamie smirks. “Uh-huh.”
I close the door on this conversation by walking up to get my shoes. A couple of minutes later, we’ve been assigned our lane, entered ourselves into the scoring system, and selected our balls.
“When’s the last time you’ve been bowling?” I ask.
“Ages ago. You’ll probably wipe the floor with me.”
“You better not let me win.”
“Carmen, you’re not the kind of girl anyone needs toletwin at anything.”
My heart patters too noticeably at what’s clearly nothing more than a bit of empty smooth-talking.
I go first … and send my ball directly into the gutter. My mouth twists, and my competitive side reminds me it’s still there with a pinch of displeasure.
“We should play pool next time. I’m actually good at that.”
Jamie’s green eyes sparkle. “Oh, yeah?”
“Unless you’re afraid to lose.”
“We lost spectacularly this weekend, and if things on the team stay the way they are, we’ll all be getting used to it.” He sighs. “But forget that. Tell me more about your pool skills.”
I tilt a shoulder. “I’ve always had a knack for geometry and physics, I guess. Plus, there’s just something about striking balls really hard with a stick. Maybe I find it so satisfying because I realize it’s what men deserve.”
Jamie grimaces. “Ouch.”
My second roll is better. By better, I mean I knock over two pins.
Jamie draws himself up and stretches like he’s getting ready for an athletic feat.
“Remember,” I say as he slides his fingers into his ball, “don’t play badly just to let me win. I’ll notice.”
He grins. “In that case …”
In a fluid motion, he turns to the lane and gracefully releases the ball … it hits the pins head-on, and he bowls an instant strike.
My jaw drops. Jamie turns to me with wide eyes, and a beat later erupts in laughter. “I really didn’t think that would happen,” he says.
My competitive side pinches harder.
“I guess it’s actually a lot like hockey. You’re trying to accurately slide an object over a smooth surface. Like a puck.”
“Uh-huh,” I grouse.
Jamie’s grin taunts me. “You told me not to let you win.”
“And I meant it,” I say, brushing past him with determination.
For all my bravado, two rolls leave me with a total of four pins knocked over. Jamie follows it up by bowling a spare.
Jamie’s right. This is a little too much like hockey. He’s got a competitive advantage. I’m not going to beat him by playing fair.
No problem.
The next time Jamie lines up in front of the lane to take his roll, I call out, “Wait.”
He does, and I position myself in front of the empty lane next to ours, facing him. “I need some pointers. I’m going to watch your roll.”
