“Fine? My score was a forty. Even kids score better than that.”
“Well.” I can see him thinking of a positive way to spin my abysmal bowling skills into something positive. “Kids use those inflatable bumpers. So their scores don’t count.”
A snort of laughter slips out. “So you’re saying I should use those bumpers next time I play?”
“Um. No?”
“I think that might be more embarrassing than just being bad at bowling.” I move in front of Ace, then rise on my toes to kiss him. With a laugh, I add, “It’s okay. I’ll just be known as Gutter-Ball Yara from now on.”
Ace shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he does it. “Don’t listen to Indy. Or—” He brightens. “Next time we’re bowling and he calls you that, turn the tables on him, and call him Windy Indy.”
“Windy Indy?” I know Indy’s nickname from the Army is Jones, just like Ace’s was King—it stemmed from some poker game he lost miserably at, from what I understand—but I’m not sure where the windy part came from, unless…
“Does he fart a lot?” I ask. “I hadn’t noticed, but that’s all I can think of.”
“No, but that’s kind of where it came from,” Ace replies. “Back when he and Eden were kids, she used to make up some concoction that smelled like farts. And she’d set it off when he had friends over, so they’d think he did it. Then she’d call him Windy Indy to really rub it in.”
I burst out laughing. “Maybe I’m glad I didn’t have siblings, if that’s what they do.”
Ace chuckles. “You should have seen the shit my brother and I did to each other. We were merciless.”
I look over at a family photo of Ace taken before his dad passed away. In it, Ace is flanking his parents on one side; hisbrother and wife, the other. They’re all smiling, oblivious in the moment to the heartache ahead.
“Was your mom upset that you didn’t visit her for Thanksgiving?” I ask.
“Nope.” Ace heads towards the couch. “She understands that I like to do Thanksgiving here. I’ll see her for Christmas. And anyway, she spent the day with Spence and his family. So that kept her plenty busy. I’ll call her tomorrow to check in and see how everything went.”
A funny expression crosses his face, like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure if he should. Just as I’m about to call him on it, he says, “You could come. To Austin, I mean. I’m going to do Christmas Eve here, then take a flight first thing Christmas morning out. We’ll do Christmas that night, and I’ll spend a few days out there, after. Everyone would love to meet you.”
Warmth expands inside my chest. “You would want me to spend Christmas with you?”
He ducks his head before giving me that sweetly shy look. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
My heart flutters.
“It’s okay if you’d rather not,” he adds quickly. “I know it’s a lot, going out to Texas, meeting my family…”
Itisa lot,I silently agree. Spending Thanksgiving together with his friends at B and A is one thing, but flying out to Texas to meet his family? That’s a big commitment. People don’t do that unless they’re really serious about each other.
And you’re not?the little voice in the back of my head asks.Really? You don’t feel like things between you are serious? After living in his apartment? Sleeping next to him in bed? Sharing some of your most personal secrets with him?
“I’d like to go,” I blurt. My heart races. “If you’re sure.”
As Ace looks at me, a smile blossoms. “I’m sure.” He frames my face with his hands and lowers his mouth to mine. He stilltastes of cinnamon and apple and caramel from the third slice of pie he had during bowling. “I’mdefinitelysure.”
My good hand comes to the back of his neck. I pull him closer to me, deepening the kiss. With our bodies flush against each other, I can feel his burgeoning erection and the speeding rhythm of his heart. Heat coils at my core, pulsing with need.
When we draw apart, both breathing hard, I grab his hand and start tugging him towards the hallway.
“I thought you didn’t want to go to bed?” Ace asks. His brow creases in confusion. “Or did you change your mind?”
Though it’s not my initial plan, with the shower and dimmed lights, I don’t care. All I care about is being with Ace. And it’s become apparent that if I wait for him to take the lead, I’ll be waiting until every last bruise on my body is gone and my broken fingers are healed. If I thought he really wasn’t interested in me like that, it would be one thing. But I’m pretty darn sure he is.
So I’m taking the lead instead. And anyway, who says it’s the man who’s supposed to initiate? Maybe back in the 1950s, they did. But now? I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.
“I do want to go to bed,” I reply in a voice that sounds much huskier than my normal one. “But not to sleep.”
“Do you want to watch TV in bed? I can get snacks?—”
