by Mimi Grace
She looked up and around them as if she’d in fact forgotten where they were. “Right,” she said, tossing her phone onto her purse. “I’ll warn you, the last time I played I was twelve.”
“We’re in the same boat,” Duncan said as he stretched his shoulders and rotated his neck. “But we’re only playing a friendly game.”
Walking over to their lane, Retta sort of curtsied and released the ball she’d picked up. It landed straight in the gutter.
He clapped. “That’s okay.”
She muttered something then squared her shoulders before sending the next one down the lane. This time, she was able to eliminate all the pins save for two.
They swapped places, and he stepped up to the front and bowled. His ball only clipped the side of one pin before miserably falling into the gutter. The next bowl was far worse. The uncooperative sphere landed in the damned trench almost immediately after he released it from his hand.
“Warmup round,” Duncan said as he and Retta passed each other.
It proved true for Retta because she hit a strike and a spare on her next two turns. Duncan, on the other hand, failed to get more than three pins to fall. While he was on a mediocre streak, Retta continued to get excellent scores to the point where Duncan was impressed with her skill but worried that he’d lost all his athletic ability between the time he’d woken up and now.
After a particularly bad bowl, Duncan turned around to find Retta fighting a smile.
“What?”
“You’re throwing it like you’re trying to make craters in the floor,” she said.
Damn. He looked back to where he’d bowled.
She laughed. It was high pitched and staccato, and the most captivating thing. It was also the first time he’d ever seen her truly relaxed.
Advancing toward her, he said, “So, all I’m hearing is I have massive biceps, and my strength is my weakness.”
“Sure,” she said, giving his arms an impassive look. “Or you just suck at bowling.”
He raised one brow. “That’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”
“No. As you said, we’re playing a friendly game… that I’m winning.”
She tossed her straightened hair fashioned in a half updo over her shoulder. “My turn.”
Would the fake dating guidebook consider any of this flirting? Maybe. But he’d have to get props for ignoring the way she would pull her jeans up by the belt loops before each bowl. Her thighs would jiggle some, and when she’d bend down her ass would—
Okay, so maybe he was paying more attention than he’d care to admit.
When it was his turn once again, he was determined to have a gentler hand while rolling the ball. It worked, and he received his highest score yet. Retta responded by patting his arm like he was some puppy who’d managed not to eat his own shit. She went on to score another strike.
“Last time I bowled I was twelve, my ass,” he said, watching her saunter back.
Raising her hands, she said, “I promise you I’m as shocked as you are.”
It didn’t matter for too long, however, because after a few more rounds they were neck and neck. He pumped his fist on his way back to the plastic chairs.
“Remind me never to give you advice,” she said as she looked at their even scores before heading back up.
“That’s not good sportsmanship,” he said as she readied to send a ball down.
Unfortunately, before she released it, Duncan happened to cough. The disruption resulted in a skewed bowl.
“You did that on purpose,” she said, coming right up to him.
“I didn’t,” he said. But the laugh he released in response to her overly serious expression, undermined his statement. “I don’t need to cheat to win.”
She squinted and studied him before saying, “Of course not. Good luck.”
Picking up a ball, he geared up for his throw.
“I want you to feel confident,” Retta shouted from behind. “You can do this.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, seeing right through the mind game she was playing.
“Come on, roll the ball,” she said, giving him two thumbs up.
His preoccupation with what Retta might do resulted in abysmal bowls. Meeting her where she stood, he said, “So, you wanna play dirty, huh?”
She lightly pressed her finger into his chest. “You started it.”
Instinctually he grabbed her finger.
Her eyes widened, and she looked at where he held her and back to his face. He’d never dated anyone this tall, but he decided he liked that she could easily meet his eye.
“It’s on, Majors,” he said, before releasing her.
“I’m ready.”
But before they could find out how this newly inspired vigor would play out, jarring beeps rang through the bowling alley.
He and Retta jumped back and looked around them. The other patrons similarly searched for answers, but all Duncan could offer was a shrug.
A short man in his sixties emerged from an office behind the front desk. Duncan, Retta, and the group beside them watched as the man took steps in tempo with the lethargic beeping sounds toward the other corner of the large room.
A minute later he arrived at his destination, and the noise stopped soon after. However, they didn’t have a chance to relax or get back to bowling before the older man bellowed from his spot inside the room, “Meredith, it’s fucked!”
In unison, everyone whipped their heads to the only other person working.
The older woman at the front desk didn’t look up from her computer when she shouted, “You sure?”
Everyone turned to look at the door the man had disappeared behind.
“Yeah, I’m sure!”
Eyes back on Meredith.
The woman visibly sighed before standing up, retrieving a megaphone on the shelf behind her and positioning it over her mouth. “Folks, if I could get everyone’s attention.” She scanned the room for several seconds.
God knows why. The nine of them were silent and waiting.
“We’re having some technical difficulties, so we’re shutting down the lanes for the rest of the evening.”
“Wait, are you joking?” someone from the group next to them asked.
Meredith, with a bored expression, looked over to the man who’d spoken. “In an orderly fashion, you can approach the desk to collect your shoes and a refund if you choose.”
The older woman then returned to her seat and continued to do what she was doing behind the computer. Meanwhile, the lights illuminating the lanes dimmed and the screens where their scores were tracked shut down.
Everyone retrieved their belongings and left the building mumbling their disappointment.
Retta was in her purse, fishing for her keys when she said, “I promise I checked the reviews for this place. They were decent.”
“Well, on the bright side, you don’t have to go home a loser,” he said.
She laughed. “A little too confident for someone who spent half the time with balls in the gutter.”
Her words were the last thing said before they both understood this “date” was over despite it only beginning. Maybe the rapport they’d built in the last hour and a half was enough to get them through the wedding events.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Send me the link to those questions. I’ll send you back the answers,” he said.
Retta nodded. “I’ll do the same.”
“Cool.”
They both fell silent, and this was part of a date that would include a hug, perhaps a kiss. But he kept his hands where they were and waited for her to make a move. And she did, toward her car.
“See you later,” she said.
And as he sat in his vehicle, he kept thinking how he’d been having fun while accomplishing the goal of getting to know her. She was still parked, and it was far from late.
“Screw it,” he said to himself before opening his truck door.
Retta entered her car and
took a full breath for the first time since the day had started. The malfunctioning bowling lanes had been her unintentional savior. This date should’ve been less stressful than a real one. She literally didn’t have to be pretty, impressive, or even likable.
However, she’d been having fun. The sort of fun you’d over-analyze with friends afterward.
She’d thought they’d been flirting.
“You wanna play dirty, huh?”
But all this musing was particularly mortifying because this was the most enjoyable date she’d been on in a while, and it had to be fake. Shaking her head, she placed her keys in the ignition. A sharp knock sounded on the driver’s side window before she could pull out.
Retta found Duncan standing there and was too thrown to think of what he might want as she rolled down the window.
“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” he asked.
“Ah, why?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out to the road her car faced. “Well, our date was cut short, I’m starving, and the fair is in town. So, I was thinking if you have no place to be, we can head over there for an hour or two.”
Despite the fair being her scene, Retta felt compelled to reject the invitation. Hadn’t she told herself moments earlier that their limited interaction was enough?
Say no.
“Sure.”
Chapter Seven
After realizing public transportation would be their best option, Duncan and Retta dropped off their vehicles at their respective apartments and met each other at the fair. As they stood in the admittance line, Duncan watched as she barely made eye contact with him and swept her gaze across the crowd every so often. She might be nervous they’d bump into someone she knew, but he feared she’d chew her bottom lip off if he didn’t distract her.
“You said you wanted to be an artist growing up,” Duncan said as they took a few steps forward in the progressing queue. “What kind?”
Retta stopped scanning the area to look at him. “A painter. I was going to get my Bachelor of Fine Arts and everything.”
“So, how did baking come in?” he asked, pleased to see her shoulders relax and faint smile lines appear.
“I was generally artistic and liked working with my hands. But baking wasn’t something I even thought about until the summer before I was supposed to start college. I went to this French bakery in Seattle.” Retta paused, looking at Duncan. “I know it sounds silly, but I sorta had this out of body experience when I tasted the croissants and brioche. I knew then and there that I wanted to learn to make things like that for as many people as possible.”
“Doesn’t sound silly at all,” he said as they were called up to purchase their tickets. “You followed your gut.”
Inside the fair, they found a robust crowd, food trucks, and noisy carnival rides and games. And once it was dark, Duncan knew the strung up lights would add more beauty to the scene.
“Where do you want to start?” he asked.
“Do you want to grab something to eat?”
He nodded, and they both assessed the food trucks parked close by.
“Let’s try this one,” Duncan said, pointing to one with the least amount of people in front of it.
“What do they sell?” Retta asked as they both squinted to make out the shabby chalkboard menu.
When they neared the front of the line, the words “deep-fried poutine balls” became clear.
“That sounds vile,” she whispered, looking at him like he’d come up with the idea himself.
“We should at least give it a try. You don’t get deep-fried poutine every—”
The person directly in front of them who’d received his order turned around and took an enormous bite out of the creation. The brown gravy oozed, dripping down his chin and into his beard. Any resemblance to the beloved Québécois dish had been lost in the process of breading and frying it.
“What can I get for you folks?” the attendant asked, peering from the small food truck window above.
“Nothing.”
“We’re good, thank you.”
They said simultaneously.
Leaving the line as quickly as possible, they found a truck more in line with their tastes. They received their order of Mac N Cheese and pulled pork tacos and located a spare corner to stand and eat. The tangy slaw and the rich pork on the tacos were brightened with fresh avocado and cilantro. The macaroni wasn’t bad either.
However, Duncan couldn’t process what he was tasting once Retta softly grunted. He watched her tongue move across her bottom lip and the mechanics of her jaw and delicate throat. At one point, he stopped eating altogether because she closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
After her display of unintentional eroticism, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and asked, “You said your parents are both teachers?”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Yeah, all that pressure. They knew my teachers personally. Couldn’t get away with shit.”
“Are they still teaching?” Retta asked, smiling.
“My dad retired a few years ago, but my mom’s still going. And, of course, my sister is a teacher as well. I kinda rebelled in that sense.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“I got into boxing in high school, but I ended up training and competing on the side through college. I met Anthony at one of the gyms. I don’t know if I would’ve had the guts to start the business without him.”
“I’m sure your parents are proud,” she said.
“I hope so.”
“Is your dad anxiously waiting for your mom to retire? One of my uncles went back to work because he couldn’t stand being in the house alone.”
Duncan smiled wryly. “Nah, I think he’s good, seeing they’re getting a divorce and everything.”
“Shit.” Retta dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, nabbing the last taco. He didn’t want to dive into that conversation. It was better to quickly move on. “Let’s see what else there’s to eat.”
It was a bona fide skill at this point how Retta could put her foot in her mouth when Duncan was around. She hated that she’d broached that particular subject at a carnival of all places. However, she was determined to not further mar their time together by harping on about the mistake.
After getting grilled pineapple on sticks, Retta and Duncan walked deeper into the fairgrounds. They passed carnival games whose rules could be summarized with: throw or hit a weird shaped object.
“Oh, a punching machine thing,” Retta said, pointing at the contraption.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Duncan said.
“Why? Your massive biceps?”
He laughed. “Exactly that.”
“Fine, let me do it,” she said as she got in line. “I want to get the big parrot plush toy. My niece is obsessed with birds right now.”
“How old is she?”
“Six. And her brother is eight. Do you have the one sibling?”
“Yup, only Gwen and me. The coolest sister, by the way. How about you?” he asked.
“An older brother.”
“Are you close?”
“We weren’t that close growing up. Probably because I kept on crushing on his friends,” Retta said, laughing.
As they got closer to the front, Retta studied people’s techniques for throwing a punch.
“I think I can do better than that,” she said under her breath.
“Do you want tips?” Duncan asked.
“Hell, yeah. Show me.”
“Are you right-handed or left?” he asked, stepping closer.
She raised her right hand.
“Okay, place your right foot back and when you go to punch, rotate your hips and pivot your back foot,” he said, demonstrating the movement. “It’ll give you more power.”
She imitated him.
“Now, let’s see your fist.”
When she presented her right
clenched hand to him, he adjusted her thumb before giving a satisfactory nod. “Go ahead, Rocky.”
Jabbing the air in front of her, she said, “You know, I’ve never actually watched Rocky.”
Duncan stepped back like one of her punches had landed. “Never?”
His tone was so incredulous she decided to tease him. “Is it any good?”
“You’ve said all I need to know,” he replied. “We’re watching Rocky.”
She didn’t have the chance to ask him about this presumed second “date” they’d have because the woman running the game called out, “Ma’am, you’re next.”
Turning, she dumped her purse in Duncan’s arms before stepping up to the bag. With all her strength she hit the teardrop-shaped target. The bright red digits presented her decent score. It was higher than the three people before her. She looked at the attendant, hoping her slightly sore hand wouldn’t be in vain.
“Congratulations, ma'am. You can pick anything from the third shelf.”
Retta laughed. The bird was on the sixth one.
She shrugged as she approached Duncan with a small alligator plush toy. “I thought I did well.”
He gave her back her purse, but before she could suggest a place to go next, he joined the line to hit the bag.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Getting you that bird.”
Her breathing faltered. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
When it was Duncan’s turn to go, he drew his fist back and released what she suspected was only a portion of his kinetic energy into the bag. But the entire machine still freaked out. The numbers went all over the place and changed colors. She thought he might’ve broken it before a big number and the words “new high score” appeared.
Retta’s lips parted.
The woman who managed the game looked Duncan up and down. “Congratulations. You can choose anything from the top shelf.”
Duncan got the parrot and strode back to her with it. He looked so powerful. Like an action hero at the end of a movie, leaving a site seconds before an explosion went off behind him. He even carried the five-foot stuffed toy over his shoulder as one might carry a well-worn leather jacket.