by Aly Martinez
We walk into the bowling alley to see it packed for a Sunday evening. Dozens of eyes seem to breeze over me landing directly on Jesse, sweeping her from head to toe. A few of the men openly stare at her chest as she walks. I swear one of them even had the balls to adjust his pants when we passed by his lane! I had to fight the urge not to rip off whatever pencil dick he was grabbing while drooling over my woman…I mean, a woman half his age. I knew right then that this was going to be a short excursion.
I’m not about to sit and watch men ogle Jesse as she bowls in this dress. Because of my stupid "just friends" conversation earlier, I can't even wrap an arm around her waist claiming her for everyone to see. One game, then we are out of here. We'll go to a nice restaurant or maybe find a nice empty bar where we can hang out. As we reach the counter, I pull out my wallet to pay, but Jesse stops me first.
"I'll pay for myself. Friends, remember?" She looks up at me with a smile on her face.
"Right. Friends." I remind myself again. "Don't worry, I've got this. You get to buy the first pitcher."
"Deal." She heads off towards the bar followed by the eyes of every man in the building.
"Wait, what size shoe do you wear?"
"Five and a half."
"Holy shit. Is that even an adult size?"
"Laugh it up now, big boy," she says, glancing around at the crowd and then tugging her dress down an inch. I can't help but mumble a, "That's what she said," under my breath as I watch her tight little ass head towards the bar.
I pick out a ball with great attention to detail. I have big plans for this bet with Jesse. I haven't bowled in several years, so I'm going to need all the help I can get tonight. I find the perfect twelve pound ball and move to lane three. While she is still stuck at the bar, I assign our names, Tiny and Hulk. It seemed fitting. When she sees our new nicknames on the monitors, she laughs. It makes it worth every penny of the twenty bucks I tipped the lane attendant to get us set up. It has been years since I last played. I didn't want to still be stumbling with the video scoreboard when she came back.
"This must be a fancy bowling alley. They have a ton of beer on tap. Here, take this. I need to grab some balls." I groan at the endless number of jokes I could make from that last statement.
"Are you alright?" she asks for the third time today. I bite my lip and nod enjoying the view of her walking away again.
I sit down and try to squeeze my feet into the rented shoes. No one ever carries a men’s size fifteen, so I have to squeeze into a fourteen. I'll have a million blisters tomorrow. I stand up looking down at Jesse's shoes lined up with mine and shake my head at the enormous size difference. It's ridiculous. When she walks up carrying a twelve and fourteen pound ball, all that ridiculousness is forgotten.
"Oh my God, those balls are huge!"
"Thanks, I'm quite fond of them," she winks in my direction.
"No, I mean seriously. They're huge! You do know you have to repeatedly throw them down the lane?"
"Golly gee Brett, is that how bowling works?" She feigns ignorance.
"Yeah, smart ass. It is! Are you sure you don't want me to ask for one of the special kiddie balls?"
"Alright, keep it up! When you're washing my car with a toothbrush tomorrow, I hope you remember this moment."
"What moment?" I ask as she bends over, picking up a ball that is nearly half her size.
"This one." She turns and throws it down the lane with a skilled ease.
I watch with my mouth gaping open, as I see Jesse’s ball spin to the left, teetering on the edge of the gutter before veering back to the right, and slamming into the center. Pins go flying on impact and not a single one is left standing. I close my eyes shaking my head in utter disbelief that this woman has managed to hustle me yet again. Luckily, I open them just in time to catch Jesse doing the world’s worst 1980's robot dance in celebration. Okay, so maybe losing to Jesse won't be so bad after all.
Brett
"HOW DID I get so drunk?" Jess slurs as we finish up the fifth and final game of bowling.
Despite my earlier plans to leave as quickly as possible, we've been here for hours. I got over my jealousy issues with guys staring at Jess. Okay maybe "getting over it" is a bit of a stretch, but I did find a solution. I couldn't let Jesse know I was trying to publicly claim her, but I sure as hell could let these disgusting men know who she was leaving with. Just call me Captain Loophole.
For the first two games, I would pick a random gawking man and stare him down while Jess took her turn. The more beer I drank, the more aggressive my glare became. Eventually, I'm sure they all got the idea. They also probably thought I was insane, but the obvious drooling stopped.
"Well, it could have been the pitcher of beer that you drank by yourself during game four," I answer, watching her flop down onto one of the hard plastic chairs.
"I did not! You drank some too."
"Yes, I drank two sips. Then you stole my beer and chugged it after getting your one-billionth strike of the day. Are you going to tell me where you learned to play like that?"
"No, it’s embarrassing. I'm pretty sure I'm maxed out on humiliation for the year after today."
"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad," I sweetly plead.
"Yes, it can. Don't you try it! Even with those sad puppy dog eyes, I'm still not telling you where I learned my crazy bowling skills." She laughs, throwing a balled-up napkin at me.
"Shall we make a little bet?" I ask, twirling my thumbs like an evil madman.
"Aren't you sick of losing yet?" She laughs so hard at her own joke, she almost rolls out of the chair. Her reaction alone is enough to make me laugh right along with her. This girl is drunk...and beautiful. And drunk. And sexy as hell. And drunk. And so very fuckable. Did I mention drunk? She isn't in the danger zone, where she is going to be hating her very existence tomorrow. She's in that loose-lipped-say-things-that-will-make-you-cringe-the-next-day stage. I would be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying the hell out of seeing her in this state.
Jesse always seems to have a filter when she talks to me. It's as if, she analyzes every word in her mind twelve times before actually spitting out a sentence. Since she started drinking, she hasn't stopped talking. She has officially made the leap from best friend’s little sister, to woman I want to fuck. Jesus, what the hell am I saying? Am I drunk too?
"So, is that a yes or no to the bet?" I smile, glancing down and catch a glimpse of her peaked chilled nipples.
"You cold, Jess?" I ask, nodding down at her nipples noticeably showing thorough her skimpy excuse for a dress.
I watch her eyes travel down her own body and her cheeks immediately redden. Oh shit! I really am drunk! Why the fuck would I say that to her? Better yet, when the hell did I lose my filter tonight? Oh God, what else have I said to her without thinking? I frantically try to think of a way to moonwalk out of this conversation. She's uncomfortable, and I'm mortified. We both know it too. It's written all over our faces, but in our drunken states, neither one of us can think of anything to say.
Jesse
OH MY goodness, he just noticed my nipples. Crap. Crap. Crap! What do I even say to that? Brett has been flirting all night. I've caught him checking out my back side on more than one occasion. It took me two full games to learn to stop jumping up and down after every strike. I swear, he literally growled one time after I got back-to-back strikes. We agreed to be friends. At least, I thought we did. The eyes that have been watching me all night, are not those of a friend. They are the eyes of a man who wants to rip your clothes off, and have his dirty way with you. It may be the abundance of alcohol that I've consumed talking, but I'd probably let Brett Sharp do anything he wanted to me right now.
Thankfully, he assumes my hardened nipples are from a chill, but the truth is, I'm turned on like nobody's business. For five games, I have watched his biceps flex every time he picks up the ball. I've watched his firm butt as he saunters up to the lane. Then, I watched his back muscles ripple through his tight
black t-shirt as he hurled the ball towards the pins. It's been a spectacular show of hotness and completely worth the unchallenging game.
Finally, after staring at his pecks for a few more seconds, I am able to form a coherent thought.
"One frame. Winner gets to ask one question. Loser is required to answer."
"Deal!" He answers a little too quickly. Especially for a man who has thrown over half his balls in the gutter tonight.
"Ladies first," he motions for me to start.
I walk forward, blowing on my fingers. I need to sober up. I don't think he would be willing to wait a few hours for that to happen though. Unfortunately, it seems the alcohol wins out. In my first turn, I overshoot to the left and only knock over two pins. I try to clear my head as I ready myself for my next turn. I look back and see him leaned back with his legs spread open, one hand thrown around the back of the empty seat next to him, and the other resting on his muscular thigh. I lose any sense of focus that the beer hadn't already stolen. Darn his tight jeans! They leave nothing to the imagination. I do mean absolutely nothing. I can very obviously see something in the outline in his pants. I know exactly which side he has tucked his privates tonight. That is more than enough to cause me to throw my next ball directly into the gutter.
Slowly clapping his hands, he rises from his seat, and stops a few feet in front of me.
"That wasn't very good." He shakes his head and pouts his delicious lips the way a toddler would. It's a good look for him, and if it wasn't for the fact that he's making fun of me, I would have enjoyed the heck out of it.
"Shut up. I'm almost certain my two pins can hold up against your gutter balls."
"Oh, ye of little faith. Watch and learn, Jess. Watch and learn." He taunts, throwing the only decent ball he has bowled all day.
"Noooooo!" I scream, probably a little too dramatically as he turns with a smile bigger than I thought humanly possible. I stand stunned as I watch his ball slam into four pins on the right side.
"Well, that was fun." He winks. "So, pretty lady, tell me where you learned how to bowl?"
"College." I answer, shortly twirling one of my long brown locks around my finger.
"Oh no! You have to give me more than that. I just destroyed you in that frame. You owe me."
"Seriously? That was the only frame of the entire day you beat me. And honestly, I'm not sure you should be bragging about four pins. I saw the five-year-old in lane twelve knock down at least six," I snap at him.
"Oh my God! You're a sore loser. You have to know how adorable that is." He steps forward, now standing only inches away from me.
"I'm not adorable."
"Sweet Jess, you are definitely adorable." He reaches out and grabs my hips, pulling me into his perfectly muscled body.
"You're drunk?" I ask.
"I'm a little buzzed." Leaning down to reach my ear, he whispers, "Tell me where you learned to bowl, gorgeous."
I have no idea what he's doing, but it's messing with my head. A few hours ago he was preaching to me about being friends, but now he's holding my body and whispering sexy words into my ear. If my nipples weren't already hard before, they are now. When I'm finally able to catch my breath, I look up into his twinkling green eyes searching for some sort of answer. I need to know what’s going on before I do something stupid to embarrass myself again.
"What are you doing, Brett?"
"I'm trying to find out where you learned to bowl," he repeats as he rakes his teeth over my ear lobe, sending a shiver down my entire body. I drop my forehead to his chest and mumble the words I tried to avoid today.
"You're so hot," I blurt.
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you," he chuckles. Reaching around my hips he places a hand just above my butt, then a gentle kiss on my collar bone.
"What are you doing?" I ask one last time before losing all resolve to question this any longer. I reach around his waist, and return his embrace.
"I have no idea, but I don't want to stop."
"You don't have to."
We stand holding each other in the middle of a busy bowling alley, oblivious to all the noise surrounding us. Here in his arms, there is nothing but silence. My drunken mind is swirling at this turn of events. I'm not about to stop this, though. It feels right. It might be my only chance to enjoy something like this with Brett. Tomorrow, I can blame it on all on the beer. Hey, he can't think I'm any crazier than he probably already does.
Without another thought, I rise to my tip toes and place a gentle kiss to his lips. Just as I'm about to pull away, he grabs the back of my head thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I instantly match his movements. This kiss is even better than I ever imagined. And sad as it may sound, I have imagined kissing Brett Sharp since the first moment I laid eyes on him.
Our tongues dance together in a perfect smooth rhythm. His hands are in my hair, and mine are wrapped around his waist. I boldly pull him tighter against my body, forcing my chest against his, causing him to groan in appreciation. Suddenly, I snap out of my Brett trance, becoming very aware that we are making out in the middle of a bowling alley. I reluctantly pull away, taking a step back out of his reach and looking down at the ground.
"Babe, don't do that. I need to see your beautiful eyes," he says, lifting my chin, forcing me to look back up.
"Sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?"
"For kissing you. For looking down. For kicking your butt in bowling today. I don't know. Everything?"
"First of all, stop apologizing. I believe I kissed you just now, and for your information, it was amazing." I blush at his words. "Secondly, you didn't kick my butt in bowling today, you wiped the floor with me. Is there anything else you are good at that I should steer clear from? I would really like to avoid this kind of humiliation again." Reaching out, he places one hand on my face and rubs his thumb back and forth over my pink cheek.
"You're gorgeous, Jess. I'm not just talking about this sexy dress either. Even in that hideous apron Nell makes you wear, you're beautiful." With his words, my cheeks flash bright red. I know because I feel them warm up. It's confirmed when Brett leans down, kissing where his thumb was just stroking me. "And the fact that you respond like this, babe I have to warn you, only makes you hotter." I stare at him, blinking rapidly, not sure how to respond.
"You want to get out of here?"
"No," I answer, pulling my head out of the sexual fog.
"No?"
"I'm not ready to go home yet." I respond a little too honestly, and probably a little too needy.
"Okay, what if we head back to my place? I'll cook you some dinner."
"Oh, okay. Sure," I say shocked by his offer and my immediate excitement about going back to his house.
"When I say, ‘cook you some dinner,’ I really mean, I'll use my phone to order take out." He smirks.
"I don't like pizza," I respond awkwardly. Darn alcohol. This comment lightens our serious mood, and causes Brett to laugh.
"Okay, beautiful. I have a whole drawer filled with menus. You can pick out whatever you want."
"Perfect."
Brett
IT'S OFFICIAL. I've lost my fucking mind. I'm honestly clueless as to why I would ask Jess back to my apartment. What did I expect? For her to fall into my bed naked, legs open waiting for me to ravage her body? No. She panicked when I kissed her. I can't even begin to fathom how she would react if she knew all the ways I have imagined having sex with her today. I couldn't seem to help myself, though. This girl makes my heart swell almost as much as my dick. I know I gave her the whole ‘just friends’ talk earlier. I really tried, but I couldn't keep my hands off her any longer.
Jesse does things to me. She makes me feel like myself again for the first time since I lost Sarah. I had no idea how good it could feel to not be consumed in self-pity. For those three hours at the bowling alley, I forgot that I was supposed to be miserable. I forgot that my life had been ripped out from under my feet. I didn't thi
nk about anything except getting hustled by a petite brunette who says darn, heck, and crap. I forgot it all. And that alone, is a magical feat.
The most shocking of it all was that, I didn't worry about Sarah once. I should probably feel guilty about that, but honestly I don't. I obsess over Sarah daily. Is she taking her medications correctly? Is she happy? What will she want for dinner on Thursday? Did she remember to pay her power bill? The list goes on and on. Sarah isn't helpless by any means, but I worry she'll need me and I won't be there for her. It's not like she would ever call me if she needed something though. Sarah has called me exactly one time since the accident. She wanted to know if I knew of a good divorce attorney.
Four years earlier…
"DAMN IT Sarah. You are not making these decisions four weeks after almost dying!" I scream at her over the phone while leaving work.
"I'm not doing this anymore. I want to go home."
"Sarah, you are home."
"No, I'm not. This is your house. I don't belong here anymore."
"Fine. You want to move back to Savannah? Let's go. I'm sure I can find a job down there."
"I'm not going anywhere with you, Brett. Let me go!" She starts crying, like she does so often these days.
"Baby, please. Let’s go back to that counselor. I'll do whatever you want. Tell me how to fix this."
"There is no fixing this! I don't love you. I haven't loved you in a long time. Even before the accident. Things just weren't right."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" This is the first time she has ever mentioned us falling apart before the accident.
"I asked Manda about a divorce attorney, weeks before the wreck."
"Oh really? Because last month you were talking about saving up money for a trip to renew our vows in a silly Las Vegas drive thru chapel. Now you're trying to tell me you actually wanted a divorce?" I know she's lying. Sarah never would have asked for a divorce without me feeling it coming months in advance. She was never able to hide her emotions inside. I would have known if things weren't right in our relationship.
