by J. P. Oliver
“I was thinking about it,” she said. “I’m there for strategy and expansion, right? As financial director?”
“Yeah?”
“But what you need to find right now is someone to help with cleaning up these payables.” She looked up at me, calculatingly. “I was thinking you could talk to Adrian about it.”
I cringed. “Is that a good idea, do you think?”
“Yeah, why not? You two are already hanging out.” She smirked. “Why not do a little number-crunching before you start crunching something else—”
“Okay,” I huffed, laughing. “I got it.”
At the table behind us, Dom and Zach exploded into a laughing argument as Robert came out victorious and Zach accused him of cheating.
“Just think about it?” Beth asked. “He’s got a successful tattoo shop. Two of them, actually, Zach told me so. He’s smart.”
“Yeah,” I said, a little wellspring of pride in my chest. I beat it down. We’d hooked up once; was I allowed to feel pride toward him after just that? “I’ll see if he’s up for it.”
“You will?”
I nodded as she hugged my side, the issue settled for now as Mom wheeled Dad into the kitchen, all of us shouting to him in greeting, and he cursed us out through his laughter, never an easy riser.
Work was a distraction.
Everything could be a distraction, if you used it right, and boy, did I use work. I didn’t like to think about things that could drive me too deep down a rabbit hole of self-doubt and thought, and love was one of those very dangerous things. Ever since my big post-college breakup, I wasn’t too eager to get back out there. I didn’t feel like I knew how to trust someone like that anymore after catching the only longtime boyfriend I’d ever had cheating.
So, until Adrian, my love life was practically nonexistent.
But now—well, there was Adrian.
All throughout dinner, as I picked at Beth’s chicken and tossed jokes across the table with my brothers, my parents, Beth, and Robert—who was becoming more like a brother every day now—Adrian was on my mind.
Maybe Beth was right about him being able to help. It was a small break of hope, of possibility. I’d do anything for the family, do anything to help the business, but lately it was a lot to take on by myself. I didn’t have to take this alone. Beth was there, and now maybe Adrian…
Adrian.
We cleared dinner. Said goodnight and parted ways. As I drove back to my place, the skies clouded over; tomorrow, the weather reported, a soft forecast on my car radio, it would rain all day. Memories of him consumed me slowly: of what he’d sounded like, of sliding into him. Of how he’d tasted. The mischievous green of his eyes as he slid between my legs.
Arousal pitted slowly in my stomach as I pulled into my driveway.
I whipped out my cell and dialed the last number I’d texted.
“Hey,” the voice on the other line purred. Adrian.
“Hey. Sorry if this is a weird time, I know it’s late—”
“You’re good. That whole ‘don’t call for three days’ rule is total bullshit.” He paused, clearing his throat a little “And, uh… I guess I was kind of hoping you’d call.”
A spark in my chest: little flecks of hope and excitement. “Really?”
He laughed. “So, you’re calling.”
“Yeah.” I leaned back in my seat, staring out the windshield. “I wanted to see if you were busy tomorrow.”
“Depends,” he said, the smirk heavy in his tone. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, it’s going to be raining all day,” I said.
“Bummer.”
“Wanna go bowling?”
He laughed, raspy and loud in the phone, and it did something to me. Unexpectedly. I hadn’t felt that sort of kick in my chest—that sort of hopefulness—since…
“What?” I asked, cracking a smile. “Too tough for bowling?”
“It’d put a pretty heavy dent in my image, Savage,” he hummed, trailing off. I waited, finger itching on the wheel, wondering if it was a good idea until he mumbled, “But I guess I could take the hit. What time?”
“Three?”
“Sure.” His voice dropped, quiet and earnest “Bowling. Three. Pick me up.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Silence, tense and sweet. I suddenly wished he was there with me, so I could see the look on his face, gauge his reaction.
“Anything else?” he asked.
I laughed. “No. That’s it.”
“Okay,” he drew. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure, jackass.”
“Damn. Rude. I’m hanging up now,” said Adrian.
“I’ll try not to take it too personal.”
The last thing I heard was his laughter, soft and sexy as he pulled the phone away from his lips. We had a second date. Tomorrow. I shook my head, wiping the dopey grin off my face.
It’s just a second date. It doesn’t mean anything.
And then it was Winston’s voice, prying like always:
Don’t get attached.
Adrian wasn’t like every other guy I knew. The other guy’s I’d been with. And it didn’t have to be serious. It didn’t have to be anything other than what it was now: something nice, something simple.
8
Adrian
“Quit smiling at your phone, you putz.”
I looked up from the screen, forcing my grin away completely, meeting my Dad’s gaze.
“What?” I asked. “I’m not smiling.”
“You’re full of it,” he chuckled, grabbing the controller. “How about one more episode?”
We were both in our pajamas, bumming around on the sofas in the living room and watching old reruns of M*A*S*H like we used to when I was in high school. He grew up on that shit, and it was one of the things we bonded over when he and my mom first got together. As much as I wanted to stick around for the surprise marathon on cable, I had other plans for my afternoon.
“I wish I could, Pops.” I stood and stretched with a loud groan. “But I’ve gotta get ready.”
“Ah, right.” He adjusted his glasses. “Your hot date.”
“Right,” I hummed, making for the stairs. “Nothing hotter than bowling.”
Halfway up, I heard him call after me, “Your hot date—I hope I get to meet him one day.”
I paused, gripping the banister.
Is it that serious? I wondered, shaking my head. I can’t let it get that serious. Not… not with everything going on right now. Pulling anyone into the shit with the Raptors and Troy—it’d be unfair, especially to a guy like Victor
I showered quick, washing away the pestering thought that maybe this wasn’t a good idea, that maybe I was no good for Victor. I was cutting it real close at two-thirty, and while I thought I had a few minutes to spare as I dressed—nothing wild, just some dark jeans and a top with a black and red flannel—I was surprised by the sound of someone knocking on the door.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I hopped across the room as I worked on my last sock, hoping to beat my Pops to—
Not Victor.
A man I’d never seen before was shaking out his umbrella on our porch, setting it at his feet to pull open his satchel, eyes bouncing between me and my father.
“Which of you is Adrian Cole?” he asked.
“Uh… that’d be me.” I frowned. I had a bad feeling about this guy. “It’s okay, Pops, I got it.”
He grumbled, clearly not wanting to leave me alone with whoever this was, but nodded, shuffling off to the kitchen to let me handle my own business.
“Sorry, who are—”
“You’ve been served,” the man interjected.
From his satchel, he materialized an official-looking document, a single sheet of legal paper addressed to me. I took it, looked it over, frown getting deeper with every word.
“What the hell is this?”
“How should I know
?” He shot me a pitying look before picking his umbrella up. “I don’t open other people’s summons, kid. I just deliver them.”
I stared at it in my hands. “Okay. Uh… yeah. Thanks.”
He left as quickly as he came, and for a minute I stood there, scanning the words so neatly printed as the thunderstorm rattled the windows. It was all pretentious jargon, the fancy words of some law clerk or lawyer, but the intent was clear.
The family of Troy Sanders is suing for emotional damages. The phrase turned over and over in my head, tumbling like a rock in a washing machine. Emotional damages. What kind of bullshit is this; emotional damages, my ass. Troy came into that bar asking for it.
“Hon?”
I folded the paper hastily, turning to see my Mom still in her bathrobe, leaning into the living room.
“Yeah, Mom.”
“Who was that?”
“Nobody.” I subtly slipped the summons into my back pocket, shutting the door. “The guy had the wrong house, that’s all.”
When another knock at the door sounded ten minutes later, I tried not to get my hopes up.
I doubted it’d be another guy serving me papers but, hey, I’d been surprised before in the very recent past. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry. This time, when I drew the door back, it was Victor, soaked through from his head to his shoulders, dripping wet.
“Hey,” he huffed, grinning.
“You know you look ridiculous,” I said.
“I was hoping it wasn’t that bad.”
I clicked my tongue, looking him up and down. “You didn’t bring an umbrella?”
“Didn’t have one.”
I squinted up at him. “You’re the most responsible guy in North Creek and you don’t have an umbrella—”
“Adrian? Who is it?”
Victor and I looked at each other, eyes wide. He cracked a grin first and I shoved him back lightly on his chest, calling over my shoulder, “Nobody, Mom.”
“Another nobody,” she murmured. “Well, Mr. Nobody can come in and borrow an umbrella from the coat closet if he wants. We have plenty to spare.”
“And he can say hello while he’s at it,” Pops added.
I grimaced up at Victor, who looked like he was having a great time seeing me sweat.
“Fine. Come on in.”
Having Victor stand on my porch wasn’t that strange but having him stand two feet inside the door was a collision of two unlike worlds. Living in Nashville, away from family, I never had to introduce my folks to anyone I was dating.
Not that we were dating. This was just… a date. Hanging out.
Flustered by the thought, I went to the coat closet.
“Mr. Nobody,” Pops called from the sofa, where he sat with his arm around my mother’s shoulder. “Nice to finally meet the man who’s been stealing our son’s attention.”
Mom tutted and smacked his chest lightly. “Nice to meet you…?”
“Victor,” he introduced, grinning. When I turned to look at him, he even had a little color in his cheeks; was he embarrassed? “Nice to meet you, too.”
“And just where will you be taking our Adrian this evening, Victor?”
I pushed through the junk in the closet faster, in desperate search for anything that remotely resembled an umbrella. Pop’s interrogation voice was coming out. This needed to end now.
Victor chuckled, glancing at me. The mischief in his eyes was cause for panic.
“Well,” he hummed, “Adrian kept telling me the other day how much he’s been wanting to go bowling—”
“He has?” Mom asked.
“Yeah. So I thought we’d just go out for a game, get some dinner.”
“Good,” Pops nodded, looking pointedly at me. “That’s very good. Wholesome.”
“Yeah,” Victor chuckled, “that’s how I’d describe him, too—”
“Great. Here.” I tossed the umbrella to him as I closed the space between us and the door, grabbing my jacket off the banister. “Umbrella. Let’s go.”
I didn’t exactly shove him out the door, but the hand on the small of his back, steering him towards it, was definitely helpful and guiding. My folks chuckled from the sofa, all fond and knowing, as Victor waved to them over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you—Robert and May,” he chuckled, feet almost tripping out onto the porch.
“Nice to meet you, too!” Pops shouted, on a quest to embarrass me. “Maybe sure he keeps his hands to himself, Adrian!”
Crack!
“Wow,” I hummed, clapping. “Three strikes in a row.”
Victor held his arms out, smile confident. “What can I say. I’m a natural.”
I stood as the screen overhead—a vibrant blue with an animated bowling pin doing the running man in celebration—signaled it was my turn. Victor was good, but I was closing in on him. Nothing like our time at the Speakeasy, where I’d wiped the floor with him.
I slid my fingers into the ball’s holes, grinning up at him.
“You know, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion,” I hummed, eyes flickering between his smile and his eyes, pools of brown, calm and relaxed, “that you picked bowling to get back at me for all those rounds of pool you shit out in.”
“I’d never,” he chuckled. “Your turn.”
My feel felt all clownish and wrong in these bowling shoes as I lined up the shot and padded across the laminate wood. The ball soared and spun down the waxed aisle. Pop music blared overhead, the lights of the alley pulsating in time—neon blues and pinks and reds and whites. The whole place smelled like popcorn and cotton candy and every fifth-grade birthday party I’d ever been to.
And I was having a great fucking time.
My ball spun out at the last second, veering away from the center.
“No,” I shouted. “No, no, no, no—”
It clipped the left two pins before disappearing into the gutter.
I groaned, turning to find Victor smirking.
“Good one.”
I flipped him off. “You’re about as good at smack talk as you are at dirty talk.”
I marched to grab another ball. Lined up for my second chance, and —
“You ought to be careful.” Victor’s voice was close, his body heat following as he molded lightly against my back, hands on my shoulders, lips brushing my ear. “You don’t want to get us kicked out, do you? There are kids here.”
“So?” I chuckled, warmth flushing through me, every place he touched me a point of ignition. “Not like they’ve never seen someone flip someone off, I bet.”
Victor hummed. “Want some help?”
“I don’t take help from the enemy,” I murmured, enjoying the proximity.
His fingers glided down my arms. “You sure? I’m a pretty good teacher.”
I turned my head, eyes sticking to his lips. “Maybe just once.”
Hands brushed over my own, strong and capable, lifting the ball to eye-level. His voice was low, the air of it warm against the shell of my ear, in heavy contrast to the air conditioning inside the alley.
“You’ve got a twist when you let go of the ball you have to account for,” he said. “When you step up to the line, make sure you’re slightly to the right of the center, rather than on it. The ball will line itself up better when you let go.”
I wasn’t listening to a fucking word.
He was close. Warm. He smelled like rain and wood and whiskey from working at the distillery, and this position was too reminiscent of how we’d fucked the other night.
I know what this feels like when there are no clothes between us.
“Got it?”
I nodded, letting out a long breath. “I think so.”
Victor took a step back—but not before giving my ear a quick, discreet nip. “Go for it.”
Heat pulsed through me. I suddenly cared very little about losing or winning.
I stepped up to the line, keeping to the side, watching as the ball slid from my fingers down the aisle, lingering more along
the middle—but ultimately missing the mark. No strike here. I turned back to him with two pins left standing as he shot me a thumbs-up.
“That was better,” he said.
“Whatever.” I smirked up at him, brushing a hand across his chest. “You win. Buy me something to eat to make up for it.”
We made our way across the gaudy, ultra-nineties carpeting towards the snack bar. I may have lost, but I was at least a good sport about it, buying our hot dogs and fries and sugary sodas. We found a private table for two that seemed to get little use on the far end of the alley, watching the other parties and friends bowl, the thunder of the balls and the lightning cracks of seven-ten splits overpowering the music.
“So, you like to bowl,” I said, plucking at a fry.
Victor glanced up at me, shrugging. “It’s fine. I used to do it when I was younger. Winston and I would go with my Dad—you know, when Dominic was too young to tag along. It was our thing.” He shook his head, smile fond as he remembered, “I mean, Winston was a total brat about never winning, but this was always something I had over him. I was good at bowling and he totally sucked at it.”
I smirked, tossing a fry at him limply. “There’s that pettiness.”
“That was pretty petty, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. But pettiness is hot on you, so who cares.”
We were flirting. We’d been flirting all night, and yet he still looked like he was blushing.
Unable to handle it anymore, I started laughing to myself, arms crossing.
“What?” he asked, brow raising. He felt along his chin.
“No, you don’t have anything on your face.” I nudged his foot underneath the table. “You blush kind of easily, you know that?”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t expect it with a big guy like you.”
Victor glanced into his paper tray, grinning.
“Don’t worry, though.” I looked off into the dim artificial lighting of the arcade. “It’s cute.”
We locked eyes. He huffed a laugh, definitely blushing now.
“Thanks.”
Things suddenly felt too intimate, too honest for a place like the bowling alley.
