by Lisa N. Paul
“You’re really not willing to admit that your ball could ever be wrong, are you?”
Without thought, Wren answered, “The Fortune Ball is never wrong. As I’ve said before, I may not always like the answers, but there is a method to his madness.”
*
Logan shrugged and pulled Wren in for a tight hug before releasing her and engaging in their daily lunch routine.
The fact was, he’d barely seen the round pain in the ass in nearly three weeks. He knew she still used it occasionally—because she’d tell him a story involving it—but when they were together, the ball was absent. The first couple of times it happened, Wren was nervous about forgetting it at her house (something she hadn’t done since she began using it, she’d explained), but gradually, she seemed comfortable and confident without it. It seemed as though the closer the two of them got, the less she depended on her ball. Which was perfect, since he saw a future filled with Wren.
*
Shades of Certainty played their third pop-up show at a large bar in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. Once again, the information wasn’t revealed until about five hours before show time. Unlike the previous shows, after the tickets sold out, people stood in lines that wrapped around the building and down the block, hoping to get a glimpse of the band members.
Wren had dinner with the guys before the concert. The meal was comfortable and fun and something she would definitely miss when they headed back out on tour. She’d even met Greg several times, which was exciting and a little embarrassing, since she fangirled when he opened the door to his house. Not her finest moment.
Since Emmy was out on a date instead of at the show, Smith joined Wren at the reserved table. She thought that was perfect since the women there were more aggressive and less friendly toward her. There were only so many times a woman could hear, “Really, he wants you? That’ll change,” before she started to take it personally.
“Aw, Wrenster”—Smith looped his sculpted arm around her chair—“some of these girls are so skanky, I wouldn’t even touch them, and that’s saying something.”
Giggling, Wren looked at her new friend. “That is saying something. I know you don’t like to admit it, but you’re a good guy. A little dirty, maybe in need of a flea dip, but a good guy nonetheless.”
“Shh, keep that to yourself.” He gulped his beer, his face somber. “I fucked up with Emmaline.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I need to fix it.”
“You can’t. Emmy isn’t like that,” she said.
“Challenge accepted.”
“Smi—”
Noah’s drum line started as Logan’s guitar wailed.
“Can’t hear you, Wrenster, the music’s too loud.”
Message received.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Come Pick Your Balls
Grinning like a fool, Logan closed his dresser drawer, grabbed his cell, and tapped out a text.
Logan: Thinking of you right now
Lucky: You are? Dirty?
Logan: Very clean
Lucky: :( bummer
Logan: Calling you…
Wren picked up immediately. “Clean thoughts are not fun, Enders. Not fun at all.”
The smile in her voice had his dick stirring. He might not have had dirty thoughts, but he certainly did now. “I just got out of the shower—”
“Mmm, you’re right, that is clean,” she teased. “Watcha wearing?”
“That’s what had me thinking about you. I opened a new pack of boxer briefs, and a little tab fell out of the package. Never in my life have I paid attention to that slip before, but I did just now. Guess what I learned?”
“What might that be, Mr. Enders?”
“I learned that the very beautiful, very charming inspector number thirty-four has already stroked my crotch and deemed it perfect. How lucky can one man be?”
Her quiet giggle, almost musical, carried through the phone. “That’s really funny, Lo. I’m glad you told me they were clean and not dirty. Ick… that would’ve been weird.”
Another giggle made his cock harden behind the soft cotton. He was already aroused, and they were only discussing boxer briefs. It was going to be a long night. Fun, but long. “Okay, babe, I’m gonna let you go so we can finish getting ready. I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes.”
“You’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going on this special date, huh?”
“Nope. All you need to know is jeans would be perfect.”
“Okay, you do realize it’s a Monday night, right? A lot of restaurants in the city won’t be open.”
She was trying so hard to get information out of him, but he wasn’t going to spill. She hadn’t once, since he mentioned the date, brought up the Eight Ball, so he decided to ride the wave of mystery and see how long she’d let it go. So far, so good.
“I know what day of the week it is. I also know that it’s February twenty-ninth. A lucky day for a lucky date. See you in thirty.” With that hint, he disconnected and finished getting dressed.
*
Logan: Do me a favor?
Wren’s cheeks already hurt from smiling, and the date hadn’t yet begun.
Wren: Anything
Logan: Make sure you’re ready to go when I get there. Coat and all.
Wren: ??
Logan: You’re wearing jeans, right?
Wren: uh…Yes.
Logan: Your ass looks amazing in jeans. I’ll wanna fuck you before we leave and we’ve got seven-thirty reservation. Can’t be late.
“Oh my God,” she said to her empty room.
Wren: I always wear jeans, but yes, I’ll be coated up and ready. Xo
Logan: And I always wanna fuck you. Xx
“Lucky Strike!” Wren squealed as they pulled up to the upscale bowling and entertainment club. “Oh, Logan, I’m so excited.”
“You’ve been here?” he asked, looking somewhat disappointed.
“Actually, no. I’ve been to the other big bowling venue down here in the city, but I’ve always wanted to come here.”
Logan shifted the BMW into park and waited for the valet. “So you’re a good bowler, huh?”
“I didn’t say that…” While the valet spoke with Logan, she unfastened her seat belt. She couldn’t wait to get started. “Come on, handsome, it’s cold out here.”
Music pumped through the speakers of the black-light-and-neon space full of comfortable seating, large bars, Ping-Pong and billiard tables, and that was only the beginning. The place was hopping for a Monday night. She assumed the crowds were there for the Lucky Leap Day Special.
“What do you think?”
“I love it. Nice planning, Lo.”
“Why don’t we order our dinner then pick out our balls? We can eat while we bowl. Is that okay with you?”
It sounded wonderful. Everything on the menu was fun and easy—bar food with flair—and the drink menu was endless. They ordered and headed to rent bowling shoes. While most everyone she knew hated bowling shoes, Wren kind of liked them. Sure, the fact that hundreds of feet had been in them was disgusting, but the retro look of bowling shoes was charming.
“Come pick your balls,” Wren called.
*
“Seriously?” Logan chuckled. “There is no way to say that without laughing. And the minute I laugh, I sound like a middle-school punk. Therefore, I’m gonna do it up.” Logan swaggered as close to Wren as he could without actually touching her, cocked a brow, and spoke in a squeaky pubescent voice. “Hey, girl, wanna come over here and touch these balls?”
Wren threw her head back as bursts of throaty laughter shook her small frame.
“Are you dissin’ me?” He continued his charade. “I’ll have you know I’m the best bowler in my school. In fact, I bet I can teach you to bowl in five frames or less.”
“Really?”
When the tip of Wren’s tongue slid across her bottom lip, Logan momentarily forgot about his challenge and responded in a hoar
se whisper, “Really.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. What are the stakes?”
Slipping back into character, Logan responded, “If I win, you have to kiss me at school tomorrow—on the lips, with tongue—in front of my locker for all the boys to see.”
Wren tapped her finger on her red-stained lips. “Okay, and if I win, you have to kiss me with tongue tonight, in private, where no one can see.”
“Shit.” Logan’s dick was as hard as a bowling pin. “Either way sounds great to me, but now I’m praying you are one truly fucking horrible bowler.”
Winking at him, Wren grabbed two blue balls and strutted back to their lane. Irony not lost on him, he discreetly adjusted himself, grabbed his own balls—bowling balls, that is—and went to win… er… lose a bet.
*
“You are a bowling hustler… a bowlstler,” Logan called as the last pin fell, causing a turkey to flash on the overhead screen. Three strikes in a row… again.
Wren buffed her nails against her shirt and looked at them with a Cheshire cat grin. He wasn’t wrong. She could bowl. She hadn’t set out to trick him, but when he’d asked if she bowled well, admitting she did felt weird. Once the idea formed, it was too fun to watch him squirm. So she purposely flubbed the first five frames, winning her bet and some pretty sexy hands-on time with a ridiculously sexy man.
A small amount of guilt had set in when Logan conceded with, “You may be the world’s worst bowler, but you definitely get the award for most ambitious.”
That remorse disappeared the minute she shed the inept façade and bowled frame six. She went from mostly gutter balls to a perfect strike. By the ninth frame, Logan’s shock and awe had worn off and he seemed utterly impressed.
Only a few times were they interrupted by eager fans requesting selfies or autographs. During those minutes, Logan smiled confidently, kept the small talk to a minimum, and immediately returned his attention to her.
The second game was a competition from the start. Frame by frame, pins fell, fists pumped, laughs roared, and sexual tension grew between them.
“When did you learn to bowl like this? And how, after more than two months, have you not shared this important information with me?” Logan asked.
“I’ve been bowling since I was young. My dad managed a bowling alley. It eventually wreaked havoc on his back, but I spent my early childhood there. Had the owners not had a policy against hiring family, I’d have probably worked there myself. As for why we haven’t talked about it…” She thought for a moment and nothing came to mind. “There really isn’t a reason. I feel like we’ve known each other forever, which is amazing because, in reality, it has only been a couple of months. We still have a lot to learn, right?”
Logan nodded, and something tender crossed his face. “Right.” He pressed a kiss on her lips, grabbed the ball, and gracefully threw for frame ten. “Yes!”
“Fuck.” That strike inched his score past hers by a mere five pins. Five damn pins.
“Ooh, such foul language from such a sweet girl. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” He swept her up in his arms.
Immediately she clasped both arms and legs around him. “No, Logan, this mouth only touches you.” Her mouth covered his hungrily. Hours of pent-up desire and competition had turned her into a live wire.
“Jesus, Wren, what you do to me… no words, baby.” His lips recaptured hers, more demanding this time and less in control.
If not for the catcalls, who knew how far things would have gone. Lord knew she had no plans of stopping.
“Once again, you surprised the hell out of me tonight, Lucky.” Logan kissed her head as he placed the bowling balls back on the rack.
Cradling one of the spheres, she looked up at Logan. “Honey, do you really not know by now how much I love balls?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyelids lowered. Wren couldn’t tell if he was trying not to laugh or moan, but either way, his struggle was real, and she loved it.
“Oh, Lucky.” He plucked the bowling ball from her hand and plunked it on the rack. “I am well aware, and deeply appreciative, of your affection toward all things round.” Mischief gleamed in his eyes as he leaned down and nipped her bottom lip.
“Mmm, how ‘bout we call this night a draw and both go home as winners?” she suggested.
“Only if we’re both going back to the same place.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” she teased. “After all, it is a school night.”
The playful look was replaced by smoldering intensity. “There are debts to collect, beautiful, on your end and mine.” He spoke softly into her ear, his warm breath making goose bumps coat her skin and her nipples tighten into hard nubs. “And because I’m such a nice guy, Stella’s is on me tomorrow morning, since I’m predicting we’ll both be extremely tired.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wishing I’d Made Different Choices
“You look stunning.” Logan’s gaze lazily traveled from the top of Wren’s rich dark hair to the pointed tips of her silver pumps. Her vanilla fragrance was just as inviting as the hint of color on her delectable lips.
Wren Jamison was a feast for his senses, the one woman who sated his every desire. Her beauty had captivated him the night they met, as did her wit and charm, but since that first meeting, he’d fallen in love with the woman who could make him laugh just as easily as she could make him beg. Their bowling date earlier that week made him realize it was time to share his feelings. It may be early in their relationship, but he had no doubts when it came to her.
“I love it here,” Wren said as she smiled across the small table.
He grinned. “I’m glad. If you’re a good girl, there may be a special dessert at the end of this dinner as well.”
They were back in the Italian restaurant he’d brought her to on their first date, and Logan admired her beauty over the flickering LED candles. Unlike their first date, the restaurant was completely packed and people waited to be seated. People would be waiting a while for Logan and Wren to finish though, because he had quite a bit planned for their meal.
Over dessert, he intended to tell her what she meant to him, that he loved her and couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. It wouldn’t be a proposal—not yet anyway—but Logan needed Wren to know that forever was exactly what he wanted with her.
Twice, once while they waited for their table and once before the first course, Logan was recognized and asked for a picture. While he no longer cringed at the requests, he hoped once SoC got back on the road, his small amount of fame would fade. Regardless, Wren seemed to handle the interruptions better than he did, and for that he was grateful.
“I’m gonna run to the ladies’ room,” she said, placing the cloth napkin next to her plate. “Try not to miss me.”
Too late, he thought as he watched her hips sway away from the table.
*
A masculine voice caught her attention as she headed down the dimly lit hallway to the restroom.
“Wren? I knew it was you.”
The tiny hairs on her neck rose as she faced a man she hadn’t seen in years. “Thurston?”
It couldn’t be. As far as she remembered, he’d headed south to college on a football scholarship and never returned home. His departure had been a blessing. His absence allowed her to heal…or at least move on.
“Jesus, Wren Jamison, look at you.” His perusal felt more physical than if he’d actually touched her. She wasn’t scared, but nonetheless, she didn’t like it. “You’re gorgeous… then again, you always were.”
“Right, okay then—”
“Wren, please, I have something to say to you.” His gaze softened and his shoulders slumped as he seemed to lose some of the bravado Thurston Mills had been known for back in the day. “For years, it’s been eating me up inside. What I did to you was horrible.”
While the admission caught her off guard, she didn’t plan to make any part of his apology easy for him. “I’m listening.”
Yeah, right. That’s not at all how it seemed to me.
“I, being a typical teenage prick, knew you had a crush on me and used it to my advantage.”
“Yeah, I know exactly what you did. I don’t need a recap, but thanks.” She was more desperate to get to the restroom now. She didn’t want to cry at all, but she refused to cry in front of him.
“That’s just it, you don’t understand.” Thurston’s hands were buried deep in his pockets as something that resembled shame crossed his still-handsome face. “I’ve spent years wishing I’d made different choices. Wishing I had never made that damn bet. And now tonight, my first night back in town, I run into you. It’s fate, baby.”
Baby? Wait, what? “Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I want to make up for all the wrong I’ve done. I’ve spent years wishing I could hold you, love on you, finally be with you. Tell me you don’t feel that connection. This is our chance.” He closed the space between them. “I’m so sorry, Wren. I’ll never stop being sorry for what I did, but I’ll make it better if you give me a second chance.”
Emotions whirled through Wren at hurricane force. She stepped back, putting distance between herself and her high school heartache. “Thank you for your apology. Honestly, I don’t think I needed it, but it really feels good to know that you’ve felt remorse for your actions. That said, nothing is going to happen between you and me. I’ve moved on, found someone wonderful, and I’m happy with my life.”
“But what we could have—”
When he reached out to touch her, Wren backed farther away. “I’m sorry, Thurston. No.”
Looking dejected, Thurston handed her his business card. “My personal cell number is on there. If things don’t work out with your guy, call me. I’ll wait for you, Wren. The same way I’ve been waiting all these years.”
After taking the card, she walked past him into the sanctuary of the restroom. Did that really happen? Not only had Thurston Mills cornered her and apologized for an indiscretion that occurred nearly a decade ago, but then he claimed to want her in his life.
