Facing forward, Nyssa tried to remember what he’d told her. She swung back, swung forward, and released. The ball smacked the floor so loudly it sounded like she’d cracked it. The ball tottered forward a few rotations before it veered right and landed in the crevice. Ever so slowly, it made its way to the end of the lane, missing all the pin thingies. She scowled and stomped towards the ball rack.
“Where are you going?”
“I need another ball. You said I get two tries.”
He laughed easily. “Your ball will come back.” Sure enough, with a clang and a clatter the ball rolled right up onto that half-sized table.
She grinned. “That’s neat.”
He smiled. “Try letting go of the ball sooner.”
This time she avoided cracking the floor, but fared no better with the pins.
“This is fun, right?” asked Tatum.
“I am diplomatically withholding my opinion on the matter,” she responded, which only made him laugh again. She liked that he was quick to laugh. Her sense of humor was not always appreciated at home, but it was the only one she had.
Tatum stood well behind the line and took three long strides while swinging his ball before releasing. His ball charged down the center, curving left at the end and taking out seven pins.
She put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tellmeto do it like that?”
“You’re just starting out.”
She playfully elbowed him out of the way. “My turn.”
“I still have three pins.”
“Those are your penalty for trying to cheat. I get to use them as a practice.”
He grinned and stepped back. “Be my guest. But if you knock them down, it counts on my frame.”
She looked him up and down, liking his frame. “If I knock them down, it will be a miracle.”
He chuckled and got out of the way.
She didn’t knock them down. Nor did she knock any other pins down—ever. About the sixth frame, she put her chin in her hands and leaned her elbows on her knees.
“What’s the sigh for?”
“My love for American pastimes diminishes with every gutter ball.” She waited for her ball to reappear. “The best thing about this game is the ball return.”
“That’s not true.”
“Says the man who is winning to the woman who is losing. You’re such a boy.” She stuck out her tongue. Her ball rolled to a stop and she prepared for another zero on the scoreboard. She’d also learned that there was an animated caveman who came out to mock her on the screen by smacking his head each time she missed the pins. She glared up at him, wishing a saber-tooth tiger would take a large bite out of his behind.
“Mind if I help this time?” Tatum asked.
“Well, you couldn’t ruin my natural talent.”
He came to stand behind her. Cupping her hand and the ball with his right hand, he brought her thumb to the top.
“If the ball goes where your thumb goes,” he said, his voice instructional but oddly intimate, like he was sharing trade secrets. Leaning down, he brought his cheek flush with hers, causing her temperature to spike and her heart to flutter. He gently curved the ball right. “Then which way will your ball travel?”
“Starboard,” she mumbled, not sure if she answered correctly and not caring as long as he stayed right there, holding her close.
He smiled before moving her hand the other direction. “And this way?”
“Port.”
