“I know you sometimes get assignments from work, and sometimes you choose them. So did you get assigned to me? Or did you pick me? And why do you stick with it, even when I’ve been giving you such a hard time?”
She shrugged and stood, shaking out her right hand. Both palms had suddenly become damp. “Because annoying you is the highlight of my day, of course.” She held her hand over the fan and prayed he wouldn’t push.
But of course, he did. “Was I assigned?
“Why does it matter?”
“Or did you pick me?” he asked, ignoring her sharp return.
She indicated with a finger she needed a minute for her turn, then grabbed her ball and headed to the lane. She watched as her left hand, positioned over the side of the ball, trembled. Aileen took a few deep breaths, took two steps, then realized if she took her backswing, she’d drop the ball. She set the ball down between her feet and shook her hands out, as if they were still damp. They weren’t. They were shaking instead.
Ernie stepped up behind her. “You okay, kid?”
“Sure.” She clenched her right hand to keep it from jerking and then heard the stiff canvas of her brace creak. “Just a little sore.”
He stared at her, faded blue eyes assessing, taking in every word. And clearly, found her answer to be the bullshit it was. “He bothering you? Want me to make him leave?”
“No,” she said quickly, then glanced over her shoulder. Killian was sitting forward now, forearms on his knees, watching her. A lock of dark hair fell over one eye, but he didn’t brush it away. He waved one hand at her. She lifted her own in return. “No, he’s fine. I’m just not in a great mind space tonight. Maybe I should go.”
“And handicap us?”
“Those two are better than I am,” she pointed out.
“And leave me with those two?” he corrected. He nodded slightly at Cindy and Al, who were watching a bowling video on Al’s phone about the importance of a good backswing. “Don’t leave me.”
Killian wandered up, hands still in his pockets, looking a little lost. He paused on the linoleum, not stepping up onto the wooden floor. “Problem?”
“No,” Aileen said at the same time Ernie muttered, “Yes.”
Killian looked as confused as Aileen felt. Having him there was a distraction she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t an awesome bowler to begin with. Adding in his presence, forcing her emotions and hormones to go haywire, and she was screwed.
“I’m just off my game today,” she said in lieu of the truth. “Bad night. Was thinking of calling it early and taking off.”
Al and Cindy looked up from Al’s phone and both protested. Ernie stared her down in mulish silence. Killian raised a brow.
“If you leave, aren’t they down a team member?”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll finish. Just don’t blame me when I bring down the average.” She stormed back to her seat and dropped down in a huff. Yes, she was being childish. Yes, she was being absurd. No, she didn’t care. Anything to keep Killian from noticing her mini freak-out earlier was an improvement, even immature behavior.
Because she knew, just knew, if he found a sore spot, he’d poke at it until he got her to back off and leave him alone. Their time spent burning up the sheets was nothing compared to the freedom he craved from her journalistic questions and probing.
And maybe that was the worst part. Knowing the second he had a free way out, he’d take it without a backward glance. She had no logical reason to be hurt by that. There were no agreements between them, no promises of a future or even referring to whatever they had as a relationship. She’d apparently invented the entire fantasy of him tossing his cares aside and sweeping her up and off her feet with the soft words, “I don’t care if you’re a reporter. We’ll make it work,” whispered in her ear. Yeah. Like that was even possible.
Killian sat down beside her, silent for a moment.
“Whatever is bothering you, you might as well say it.”
He stared to talk, but a server dropped off their order from the snack bar and he clammed up again. Pizza, nachos, and cheese fries all piled onto the one small, round table they’d claimed. Aileen reached over and grabbed a nacho, dripping with cheese and chili sauce. Flicking off the jalapeño into the nearby trash can, she ate the cheesy, chili-covered chip dripping with gusto. Then she glanced at Killian, who was watching her teammates devour the food like vultures on fresh roadkill.
“Do you guys always eat like this?”
“While bowling.” She took another chip, peeled off the jalapeño, and ate. “What? It’s bowling food. Were you expecting salads with crisp greens and a hint of balsamic vinegar dressing?”
He snorted and shook his head, but still looked a bit queasy at the sight of all the junk food. “No, just . . . where the hell do you put it? You’re this big.” He put his thumbs and forefingers together to make a small circle. For some ridiculously feminine reason she refused to analyze, that made her smile.
“Clearly, I burn a lot of calories on my daily jogs.” He grinned at her joke, then reached for a nacho. “It’s got jalapeños, just a warning.”
“Some people like the extra burn.” He bit in with an exaggerated crunch, smiling even as his eyes watered. “These are toxic.”
“Toxically delicious,” she added. Retrieving another nacho, she picked off the jalapeño and held it out to him. “Here, then.”
He shocked her by nipping it out of her fingers, grazing the pads of her thumb and finger as he did. He watched her carefully, and she blinked in surprise.
He opened his mouth, but Ernie—damn him—interrupted.
“We gonna bowl or make cow eyes at each other?” he asked, clearly amused.
She sighed and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “I need to finish this game. Then we can go.”
He glanced around the alley. People were starting to pack up. As their team was one of the worst, it usually took them the longest to finish. “Can anyone join in on those lanes, if they’re free?”
“If they’re free, yeah. It’s closed down from seven to nine for the league, but after that they open back up to the public. Earlier, if some of the league teams take off early. But the place closes at ten.” She stood and went to dry her hand on the vent. “Why? Did you want to bowl?”
“I haven’t been bowling since I was probably six,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I’d embarrass myself.”
Aileen paused. “You’ve never been bowling as an adult?”
He shrugged, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.
She grinned. “Just hang around. I’ve got a plan that will rock your world.”
Chapter Sixteen
Killian wasn’t sure how bowling in an empty alley constituted rocking his world, but it was fun as hell.
Aileen, as it turned out, was friendly with the owner. She’d been coming here since she was a kid, the guy told him while Aileen went to the restroom. Family friend. He had no problem leaving her behind and letting her lock up on her way out.
With goofy-looking shoes on his feet, his jeans rolled up to keep from getting caught in the heel, and a polyester polo shirt with bowling pins stitched on the breast—borrowed from the pro shop, as per Aileen’s instructions—he felt like an idiot. He looked like an idiot. But Aileen had simply grinned and said he was perfect. And that had made his heart jump. Stupid, because it was probably her way of kidding around. Just the reminder though of those deep blue eyes assessing him from top to bottom, nodding once sharply and declaring him to be perfect made his insides clench.
She returned, arms by her sides, weighed down by two bowling balls. She waddled just a little when she walked, which he found cute.
“Here are two different sizes and weights. Try the finger holes and see which one works better.”
He tried as she demonstrated, putting his middle two fingers and thumb through the three holes, leaving his index and pinky fingers on either side. “Too small.” He had to wiggle to get his hand free.
�
��Then this should be perfect.” Taking the other one away, she rolled the second toward him gently. He tried again, and found the fit comfortable but tight. No slipping, but no sticking, either. As far as he knew, it was probably good.
“How are those holes working out?” She bent over and pulled on his hand, judging how easily his fingers came free. “Looks good. You want it to be tight, but not so tight you can’t release. You don’t want the hole to feel like it’s sucking your finger in.”
At that unintentionally erotic phrasing, he chuckled. Aileen’s neck flushed, but she kept her eyes averted and swatted at his leg. “Stop that.”
“You started it, talking about tight holes.”
Her gaze snapped to his, scowling at him. “Knock it off or I’ll lock you in here.” She pressed a few buttons on the computer and entered their names as the players. The machine on the end sprang to life, lighting up and setting down ten pins. As the rest of the alley was dark, including the front desk area and the snack bar, the glow from their screen and lane lit up an eerily tight space of the hall.
“Bowling for ghosts,” he muttered. She laughed, then picked up her ball. It was a custom one, obviously, as it had her name airbrushed with a pen. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”
She glanced at it. “Online. You want one?” She grinned wickedly. “We could get a cute little teddy bear throwing a football or something.”
He smacked her ass hard enough to echo in the empty alley. She just laughed and lined up.
“You start here, with your toes on these arrows.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. “You’re right handed like me, so you’ll just do exactly what I do. Start with this foot . . .” Trailing off, she took a few steps, a back swing, then let the ball go effortlessly. It rolled down the lane until it knocked over nine pins with a startling clatter. The tenth wobbled, and he held his breath, but it righted itself.
She watched, not turning around until the arm of the machine lowered to remove the downed pins. “That’s all. Pretty simple.”
He glared. “If you do this all the time, how come you only knocked down nine?”
He worried she might be offended by the question, but laughed instead. “I’m not great. Better than your average ‘show up once in a blue moon’ bowler, but I’m not great. Sadly, this is my best sport. You’ve seen how pathetic I am at cardiovascular feats. I’m more of a spectator and reporter rather than a doer.”
He couldn’t tell if she was being honest, or self-deprecating. Either way, he could tell she wasn’t as fancy as some of the other bowlers he’d watched during league play. They had crazy windups, wicked spins, and some had almost comical footwork. Hers was a straightforward approach. Nothing fancy, just getting the ball down the lane time after time.
“Okay then.” He waited for her to bowl her second time, counting the steps and watching when she released the ball. The timing of the release seemed to be the key. The final pin didn’t stand a chance as the ball hit it head-on. After she was finished, he stood and grabbed his ball.
Aileen took a few steps to the side and back, so she was out of his line of vision. “Okay, off you go.”
He took one step, then froze and turned to look at him. “What, no coaching? No tips or last-minute tricks?”
She scoffed. “It’s bowling, not land mine jumping. Just throw the ball and see if it works.”
“You know, for a semi-professional—”
She snorted.
“—you’re not very exact.” He tried to emulate her simple approach and windup, then ended up throwing the ball straight into the gutter two feet down the lane. “Well, damn.”
“You twisted your wrist at the last second.” She held an imaginary ball in front of her, fingers extended as if they were in the correct positions. “At the last second, you did this when you released.” She demonstrated with a flair, some weird wrist-flip thing.
“I did not.”
She raised a brow. “You’re right. Us semi-pro folk know nothing.”
He was the one who snorted this time. “Fine. I have another shot, right?”
“You do.”
He was determined this time to get it right. Or at least, as right as he could with zero practice. He waited for his ball to pop out of the chute-thingie and gripped it like she’d shown him.
He lined up, positioned his feet, took three steps, then froze again.
“You’re thinking too much.” Aileen walked up behind him and gripped his arms, pulling him back to the starting position. “That little hitch that made you stop was you thinking too hard. It’s just a ball, and you’re just telling it where to go.”
This was ridiculous. He forced himself to take a quick approach and flung the ball as hard as he could. It bounced with a nasty thud, then skittered straight into the gutter. There was no way to mask the groan he let out at seeing a second ball fail so spectacularly.
“Yeah. Just toss it like a Neanderthal. Brilliant.” With a tone so dry it might have been burnt toast, she gave him a few claps. “If you don’t want to do this—”
“I do,” he snapped, waiting for the ball to return and then grabbing it.
“Uh, it’s actually my turn,” she said.
“Do you need the practice?” When she kept her lips pursed together, he nodded. “So I’m just gonna go.”
Hustling to the starting point, he got ready, then jolted when he felt her small hand between his shoulder blades. She rubbed a few times, like she might have been soothing a child.
“Let me help.”
The words were full of more than bowling advice. He ignored the heaviness of their implication. “Fine. Show me again.”
“Together,” she countered. Stepping up behind him, she flattened her front to his back. The pose was ridiculous, with her face pressed to his back and her hips cradling his ass. But he couldn’t make his cock find the hilarity of it. No, his cock found the entire thing far more sexy than it had any right to. Despite the ugly shoes and the stupid shirts, despite knowing there was no way a relationship between them would work, his groin couldn’t be persuaded to find her unattractive.
Seeming to understand the position did nothing helpful, she laughed. “Okay, if you weren’t so darn tall, this would work.”
“I’m not tall,” he insisted, but she ignored that and scooted around in front of him. Nestling her back against his front, she took the ball from him and slid her fingers in. With a little wiggle, her ass rested against his thighs, and his erection pressed into the small of her back.
She slid a saucy smile over her shoulder. “Is that a bowling pin in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”
He laughed. “Cheesy.”
“But effective. Now shadow me. Follow my steps and my arm swing. Ready?” She started to move and he awkwardly followed. It was difficult, as her steps were so much shorter than his own, but he tried to keep up with her without stepping on her heels. She didn’t release the ball at the end, just froze in her final position. “Feel that? This is what your arm and wrist should look like after you let the ball go. You have to tell it where to go.”
He stepped back, fighting the urge to toss the ball aside and go a few rounds with her on the lanes themselves. “Just tell the ball where to go.”
She seemed to think for a moment, cradling the ball by her breasts with both hands. “You’re the kicker. Do you just walk onto the field, take a few steps back, let your leg swing around wildly, and pray you connect with the ball and it goes in the general direction you want it to?” She barely paused for a breath, and certainly not long enough for him to answer. “Of course not. You have a plan. Certain amount of steps, certain way you want your placeholder to position the ball, certain part of your foot you want to hit the specific spot on the football. That sort of thing. That’s you telling the ball where to go. Same thing. You’ve just gotta be the boss.”
She’d taken the time to analyze bowling into football terms he could understand. Without overthinking�
��that evil thing she’d told him not to do—he stepped up, took the ball from her, and gave her a smacking kiss. “I’ll do my best, coach.”
“I hope you don’t give your special teams coaches the same sort of treatment after practices,” she said in an amused voice.
“Only my favorite ones.”
“I’m reporting on the wrong story,” she murmured with a wicked gleam. She stepped to the side, a little behind his starting position, and waved a hand. “Give it a run. Do what you felt me doing, and don’t worry.”
Much as it pained him to admit, he wanted to get this right. He wanted to impress her. Be the guy who was good at everything, earn her respect and admiration, her worship, her . . .
Her.
Yeah, right. And bowling is the way to do that. Head out of your ass, ball down the lane, knock down pins.
Here went nothing.
* * *
An hour later, Aileen checked her watch. She hadn’t planned on staying so late when she’d started this silliness. A single game or two of bowling and laughing and . . . okay, some flirting and maybe stealing a kiss or dozen. But they were now on game four, and Killian was determined to keep going. And going, and going . . .
It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he was so bad. For all the precise accuracy he showed on the football field, he was all thumbs with a bowling ball. Even an average Joe should have had more luck than what he’d had, just playing around with it and having fun. But Killian’s fun-blocking personality wasn’t letting it flow naturally, and he kept catching himself on the details instead of just letting loose.
She lounged on the row of hard plastic chairs, taking up three at once. Stifling a yawn, she called out, “You have to start a few inches to the left. You’re too far over.”
He scowled at her as he approached the ball chute. “When I started there the last time, the ball shot straight to the gutter.”
“Because you were twisting your arm like I told you not to in order to compensate when you didn’t have to.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at his stubborn face. “Let’s give it a break for tonight. If you want, we can bowl another day.”
Loving Him Off the Field Page 16