“Why don’t you give it a try? If it doesn’t work, you can trade it out and try something else.”
She smirks up at me. “I think if I do badly, you’ll tell me it’s the perfect ball for me.”
I grin down at her as we walk toward the empty lane. “You’re probably right. I might be a little competitive.”
She bumps my arm with hers in a teasing way, and my heart jumps a beat.Weird. I’ll have to get that checked out by my doctor.
“Do you want me to put the bumper rails up?” I ask innocently as I sit down at the computer to set up the game.
Someone cheering loudly in the lane next to us drowns out her response, but I can see the ornery look on her face just before she sticks out her tongue at me.
“Okay, so no bumpers…”
There’s a large family group beside us, covering multiple generations. Birthday hats all around.
I turn my attention back to Lucy. “Want to go first?” I ask her.
“Nope. I want to size up the competition. You go first.”
“I’m starting to get scared that youarea professional…”
“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” she replies smugly.
I narrow my eyes at her and give her a weird face. She throws her head back and laughs while I grin.
Roommate-bonding nights should happen at least once a week. This is fun.
I bowl a spare on my first go-round.
“Dang it!” Lucy says as she steps out onto the wooden floor. “I was hoping you were as bad as I am.”
And then I watch as she holds the bowling ball in both hands, walks to the edge of the lane, then proceeds to squat down and roll it forward like she’s trying to shove a boulder down a hill. It’s like watching a toddler bowl, and it takes every bit of my restraint to not burst out laughing.
“It’s supposed to knock over all of them at once, right?” she asks as we watch the ball continue to roll slowly down the lane.
“That’s the goal, yes.”
The ball knocks out three pins when it finally reaches its destination.
“But three is good,” I tell her.
Her shoulders slump.
“The great news is you didn’t have a gutter ball.”
She spins around and marches back to retrieve her ball from the ball return.
“You had two tries. Does that mean I do too?”
“Exactly how long ago did you go bowling?”
“Sixth grade?” She shrugs.
I clutch my chest. “No!”
“Yes.”
“My family would be horrified.”
