Rubbing the back of his head, he just nods before he heads back down the hallway. I can hear him in the kitchen as he opens the refrigerator and then cracks open a beer.
After brushing my hair, I turn on the hair dryer to straighten the damp waves. When I’m done getting ready, I head to the kitchen to spend a few moments with my dad before Brent arrives. Even though I have some issues with him and his behavior, we’re still cordial with one another. After all, we do live in the same house.
When I get to the kitchen, no one’s there. I peek out the back door and notice his car is gone. I guess our time together for the day is over. Typical. Rolling my eyes, I walk back into the house.
***
At 7:25, I head out the front door to wait for Brent. Although I appreciate him picking me up, understanding the formality of it all, I want to make this as quick as possible. As I sit on the front stoop, I see an older red Mustang driving up the street, slowing down when it approaches my house. I thought Brent drove an Audi. When the car pulls in the driveway, I start to get up but swiftly sit back down when I recognize the driver as Cody. Working at the garage, he always has a new car project. It looks like the latest is this Mustang.
When he pulls the car next to my Gremlin, Dragon runs over to meet him as he gets out.
“Hey, cuz. What? No date tonight?” he taunts me.
“Hey, Cody,” I mumble very unenthusiastically as I kick my legs out in front of me.
Cody stops in front of the door to his father’s house and looks at me. “Is anyone here?”
“I don’t think so. My dad mentioned something about a bonfire. I guess that’s where they are.”
He rubs the scraggly pad of hair on his chin. “So, do you want to come with me and hunt down this party? I bet it’ll be a lot of fun. You can call one of your friends to come, too, if you like.”
“Uh, no. No way. Give it a rest.”
“I know you have some hot friends, right?”
“Pig.”
“Geez, sensitive much?”
“Dickhead much?”
This spat with Cody has me a little too occupied, and I’m caught off-guard when Brent pulls into the driveway. My heart starts beating rapidly as I try to plan a safe and non-embarrassing getaway from Cody. Man, I’m screwed!
I stand up, grabbing my bag, as Brent’s car pulls in behind my Gremlin. Before Brent has a chance to shut off the engine and get out, I briskly walk to the passenger side. My hands start to get clammy when I sense Cody following me. I’m almost there when I see Brent pop up on the other side over the roof.
“Hi, Ruby,” he says and starts to come around.
I stop where I am, trying to remain calm. All I want to do is jump in his car, so we can get out of here as quickly as possible, but at this point, I know it would be rude to launch myself into the passenger seat with Cody standing there. Not to mention, this is our first date. So much for being nervous about a first date because it’s with an amazing guy; I’m more nervous about what Cody might say.
“Hey, Brent,” I say with a half smile. “You ready to go?”
Stopping in front of me, Brent tilts his head to look over my shoulder at Cody and then lifts his chin in acknowledgment. I figure I better introduce them, or I’ll look like a total jerk.
I turn toward Cody and wave my hand in his direction. “This is Cody, my cousin.”
“Nice to meet you, man,” Brent says with an outstretched hand.
Cody has his hands shoved in his pockets, and I see something starting on the corner of his mouth.
He reaches out with his right hand to shake Brent’s. “You, too.”
Cody retracts his hand to his pocket and looks at me with a goofy, toothy, cheesy smile. I’m not sure what to make of this, but maybe he won’t embarrass me. I have no idea what my cousin is thinking, but he isn’t saying anything. I’ll take mute over asshole any day of the week. I give him a smirk, internally praying he says nothing else, and then I look to Brent.
“You ready?” Brent asks, gesturing to his car.
I breathe a little sigh of relief. Cody seems to have given me the gift of not being a dick for now.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, staring into his compelling green-gray eyes. Without another look to Cody, I start toward Brent’s car.
As Brent walks beside me, I’m hyperaware of his presence, feeling the body heat between us. When we get to the door, he opens it like a gentleman, and I slide into the smooth cream-colored leather seats. He shuts the door and waves to Cody while he rounds the front to the driver’s side. As I put on my seatbelt, I look out the window at Cody. He’s still standing in the front yard with his hands in his pockets while a shit-eating grin plays on the corners of his mouth. I know he must be laughing at me right now, but I’m just happy he wasn’t his usual total-ass self. I’m sure he’ll give me shit for this later.
When Brent starts the car, I turn to look at his gorgeous profile. He starts to back out of the driveway and then drives down the street without a word.
As we come to the end of my street, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of me. While I relax in the seat, it dawns on me that I’m in Brent’s car and have yet to say a word. I know I need to say something, especially since I probably came off really weird when he picked me up.
“So, did you have practice today?” I ask, hoping this will start some normal conversation.
His face ignites, showing off his amazing dimples, and then he chuckles a little. “We don’t practice on Saturdays, Ruby.” He looks straight at me.
I’m an idiot. Of course, there isn’t practice on Saturdays.
“But we did have a scrimmage early this morning,” he adds.
“Oh. Who won?”
I don’t know how it happens, but his smile gets bigger.
He asks, “Do you ever watch soccer?”
“Well, I guess not. I mean, I saw some British movie a long time ago about it. But I guess they call it football, and it’s the sport over there. Everyone loves it, and supposedly, you have to play it, or you’re an outcast or something. People are really passionate about it, causing fights in bars and all that. All I really got out of the movie though was that Brits say words like knickers and bullocks, have scheduled tea time, and listen to way cooler music than us. Not to mention, they wear tight pants, and they have the coolest accents. Everyone says it’s a funny movie, but I just didn’t get it. British humor, I guess. I wonder why they call it British humor. How does a whole country get its own brand of humor? Ever notice that the accent is a lot like—” I stop talking when I turn to him. Why is he grinning from ear to ear? Crap. What did he ask me? “No, I don’t watch soccer.”
I look down at my hands in my lap and start to nervously push back the skin on my cuticles. Then, the strangest thing happens. Brent’s hand covers my own and gives a little squeeze before he puts it back on the steering wheel. It’s so quick that I don’t have a chance to realize it’s happened until it’s over. Stunned, I turn toward Brent as he gives me a sidelong glance.
“Why don’t you come to the game next weekend? It’s our first official one of the season,” he says calmly as if I’m not weirding out.
Still trying to process what just occurred, I swallow hard. “Sure. I’ve never been to a game before.”
“Cool.”
We talk a little on the way to the bowling alley, mostly about school, music, and his little brother who apparently goes on and on about his week at camp. Brent doesn’t touch me again for the rest of the ride, which is fine because I don’t expect him to, but I find myself hoping he does. That small amount of contact with him left me breathless in a good way, and I really didn’t get to enjoy it.
After we pull into the parking lot of the bowling alley, we get out and head toward the door. Brent walks beside me, placing his hand at the small of my back, as we go inside together. At that moment, I feel him apply the smallest amount of pressure with his fingertips. It begins to warm my body at the site of contact, radiati
ng out into my stomach. I look at him from under my lashes, enjoying those dimples too much. Aww hell. He opens the second set of doors, leading us to what I’m sure is bound to be something more than I ever expected.
Chapter Six
Brent keeps his hand on my back as we walk toward the counter to pick up our shoes. The man there asks us for our sizes and then assigns us a lane.
“Hello,” Lexi sings to my right about a foot from my ear.
Brent removes his hand from my back as I turn toward her. Immediately, I notice the vacant and airy feeling the absence of his touch leaves within me.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile. I think I’m going through a minor Brent-is-no-longer-touching-me depression.
Owen is close behind her, and he nods to Brent. “We just got here.”
Lexi’s eyes twinkle, taking in my apparent nerves. “Grab your stuff, lady, and let’s kick these boys’ butts.” After we grab our shoes, she threads her arm through mine as we walk together to our lane with the boys following us.
We take a seat on the bench and the boys sit on both sides of us. I quickly put on the clown shoes and then hide my feet under the bench.
“So, who’s up first?” Owen asks.
“Ruby’s going first,” Brent replies, sliding his feet into the atrocious-looking bowling shoes. While he’s tying the laces, he looks up toward me as one side of his mouth pulls up in a flirty way. “Ladies always go first.”
“All right, girl, you heard the man,” Lexi says. She playfully slaps me on the knee. “You’re up first, and then I’m going next.”
I approach the ball return and pick up a bowling ball. I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am. Going first isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.
“Kill it, girl. Make those pins your bitch,” Lexi encourages with her hands cupped around her mouth.
She’s always over the top. Laughing, I head to the start of our lane.
A long time ago, my dad and I used to bowl together before we moved here. He belonged to a league in Boulder, and since I was eight, he took me to parents’ nights most weeks. Those nights were more of a social meat market for single parents. The purpose was never about the kids; it was all about adults with similar challenges hooking up. Although we didn’t bond over the whole thing, I did learn how to play.
Now, as I stand here with a ball in hand for the first time in more than two years, I realize it’s as familiar to me as riding a bike. I’ve got this.
Holding up the eight-pound orb in front of my chest, I stare down the bitch pins, as Lexi so eloquently named. I carefully choose my target. Even though I haven’t played in a while, I know I can put a good spin on the ball. I’m sure my wrist will hurt after tonight. I take a deep breath and begin to step forward as I wind the ball back to create forward momentum. Taking three more steps, I release it onto the lane and it veers a little left off of my desired mark. It seems like I don’t have as much of a spin as I hoped, but this might work to my benefit. The stupid thing has a mind of its own and curves more to the left at the end of the lane, and then it dips just right of the center pin, knocking down all but the one on the far right. Not too shabby. At least I didn’t land it in the gutter. The last one should be easy to pick up.
I hear a low whistle followed by hooting behind me. I turn and see Owen shaking his head while Lexi beams at me. Then, I notice Brent’s eyes are lighting up the room.
“Cromwell,” Owen says after a huffing chuckle, “that girl is going to smoke you. I bet you weren’t prepared for that.”
Brent looks at Owen. “Hey, I never said I was an expert at handling balls with my hands. I certainly don’t want to be an expert at that.”
Lexi bends over in hysterics.
Brent looks at me and smiles. “Good one, Ruby.”
“Thanks.” When my ball releases from the return, I pick it up again and turn to the lane to finish the frame. Focusing on the last pin, I step forward and then hurl the sparkly sphere toward the isolated bitch. Oh, yes, it’s my bitch. I take down the pin with ease, earning me a spare on the first frame.
“Those bitches never saw it coming,” I say as I turn around with what I know is a particularly smug look.
Lexi gives an approving eye waggle while Brent stands as I approach the bench.
Brent and I exchange a high five. “Ruby, you could have told me you were a pro. I’m feeling a little inadequate.”
“I thought you already knew.” I feign, shrugging my shoulders. Feeling giddy and brave from my bowling adrenaline, I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t that why you asked me to go bowling—to work my magic with an eight-pound ball?”
“Maybe.”
“Damn, Ruby,” Lexi adds, “I didn’t know you were so skillful with giant balls.”
Looking at Brent, I try to ignore the dimple threatening to expose itself on his left cheek. Instead, I need to redirect this conversation on anything else besides balls, especially giant balls. I never should have gone there.
“So, Cody’s your cousin?” he asks.
“Um, yeah. Why? Do you know him or something?”
“No, not really. I just remember him from when I was a freshman. He was a senior at the time. Man, he pulled the best pranks.”
I hear the pins break after Lexi takes the first part of her turn. Owen has gotten up to stand near her on the lane.
“Oh,” I say, feeling somewhat defeated. I knew Cody’s reputation preceded him, but I really hoped that no one would link us together. This can’t be good.
“Yeah, like this one time, he glued shut all the bathroom doors in the west and east wings. Every last one. He never got caught, but we all knew he did it. No one could use the bathrooms for the entire day. The only place to go was in the gym. It was classic.”
“Yeah, classic.”
I look over to our lane and see Lexi taking the second part of her turn. Even though it only hits a few pins, she seems pretty stoked. As she bounces back toward us, Owen catches her mid-bounce and twirls her around, just like in the movies.
“Looks like I’m up,” Brent says. He gently rests his hand on my left thigh, giving it an ever-so-tiny squeeze, before he stands up to take his turn.
My eyes follow him as he moves in front of me. He actually looks good in bowling shoes. How’s that possible?
He picks up his ball, turns in my direction, winks, and then continues to the lane. Holy crap, that was awesome. Yep, that’s officially flirting.
I watch Brent as he proceeds to wind back the ball before he releases it. The heavy sphere literally bounces on the lane and rolls somewhat lazily toward the pins. It barely touches two pins on the left before hitting the gutter. Well, I guess Owen wasn’t kidding. He’s terrible.
“Woohoo! You slayed that one, man!” Owen taunts him.
“Oh yeah!” Brent serenades as he flexes his arms.
It’s silly but oddly attractive.
Brent rolls his second ball down the lane, once again with a body-cringing bounce, and luckily, he takes out four more pins. He has the smuggest look on his face as he returns to sit next to me while Owen takes his turn. Is he for real?
“Wow!” I exclaim, trying to remain serious. “You’re a really amazing bowler. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“Well, you see, it’s all about turning your wrist in a special way as you time your release. Also, you have to consider the weight of the ball. These are all things you learn after four years of bowling camp.”
“Oh, I see. So, if I wanted to improve my skills, would you recommend a camp or a clinic? Think either of those would be a good fit for someone like me?”
“For you? No. Someone like you would need one-on-one coaching to master your skills. A few private lessons would help if you want to be considered in my league of bowlers.”
Oh man, he’s so full of crap. Sarcastic crap. There’s no way I can hold it in any longer, so I completely lose it.
“I know. I’m terrible.” He surrenders, shaking his head over the ri
diculousness of it all. “I have no idea why I agreed to this embarrassment. I swear that I’m better with my feet.”
“I bet. You probably don’t get much hand-eye coordination practice when you play a sport that has a no-hands rule.”
“Yeah…” he agrees. He looks into my eyes before he glances at my mouth. “But I swear I can do some things with my hands.”
Uh-oh. He is not going there. Is he?
“Like, I can hold a knife and fork.”
Thank goodness, he didn’t go there.
With his eyes back on mine, his fingertips move over to graze the pinkie finger of my left hand. I look down and watch his large hand as it slowly moves over my tiny one. When his fingers begin to curl into my palm, I turn my hand upward in a very natural and instinctual motion. He slides his palm until it’s flush against mine, and then we intertwine our fingers. He adds pressure to my hand, and I return it, signaling that whatever he’s feeling at this moment is mutual.
“Ruby!” Lexi shouts, bringing me out of our moment. “It’s your turn.”
“Right.” Looking at Brent, I shrug my shoulders and release our hands as I begin to stand.
As I walk to the return and pick up my ball, I can feel his eyes tracking my movements. Rolling a strike right now would be ideal to get my turn over with quickly. I want to get back to our moment because it felt so good. With determination, I hone my focus on the pins before me. Releasing the ball, I watch as it rolls down the lane, realizing my concentration worked. I got a strike! Out of competitor habit, I throw a victory punch in the air before returning to the bench to sit next to Brent.
Brent’s mouth is gaping as he greets me with a high five. ”You’re an animal.”
“Whatever. It’s probably just luck. I haven’t played in years.”
Brent grabs my hand from my lap, bringing it to rest on his leg. “Do you really go to Howard?” he asks in a skeptical tone.
“Yes. Why?”
“I just can’t believe that I’ve never seen you before.”
“I guess we haven’t had any classes together.”
“True, but our school isn’t that big. We should have run into each other somewhere, sometime.”
After Tuesday Page 5
