by Emma Nichole
“Move over, stud, I have some payback to send your way.” I crack my knuckles in a mock show of preparation, like I’m coming in for a fight.
I think for a moment, but it doesn’t take long until my fingers are flying over the screen and pressing enter, sending his new name for the evening up to the screen.
He squints a bit to read the screen then laughs loudly. “Willie Eetmioutt? Seriously?”
“Seemed like the perfect match for Wanda Wannadoher, wouldn’t you say?”
“You, Wanda, fight dirty, and I like it.” He points at me. “Let’s go pick out our balls, and don’t even come at me with the puns and that’s what she said jokes that are hiding in that sentence.”
I snap my fingers, my voice laced with sarcasm, “Damn, that’s the only thing I have going for me, ya know? You can’t take away my need to call out innuendos.”
“A hot woman who appreciates a dirty pun? On second thought, always tell me when anything dirty is in your head.”
I roll my eyes and follow him over to the rack that contains bowling balls in every weight and color I can think of. He selects a dark, hunter green one for himself and tests the weight in his hands before nodding.
“This will work,” he says to me.
“I like that color.” I slide my hands over a few of the lighter ones on the lower racks and pull out a bright, icy blue one.
“I like that color for you too,” he leans in a bit to whisper in my ear. “It reminds me of your eyes.”
I drop my eyes closed as the tickle of his breath on my skin makes me shiver deliciously, and when I open my eyes, he’s already ten paces away from me.
“Are you coming, Wanda?” he chuckles back at me.
“Right behind you, Willie.”
I have a feeling this date is going to be one I remember forever.
Isaac
Deep into our third game, she inhales deeply.
“Do you smell that?” She picks up a mozzarella stick from the basket on the small table in front of us.
“Smell what?”
“Victory.” She smirks and munches into the fried snack, proud of herself.
“You haven’t won yet.” I point to the screen above us. “I have my turn left and if I get a strike, your ass is mine.” I tilt my beer toward her. “And as you can see, strikes are my bread and butter.”
“I’m not scared.” She takes a sip of her own beer. “You see, because this win will put me ahead of you, two wins to one win, and if we are going best three out of five, the odds are so in my favor that it’s unreal.”
It has taken us a couple of hours to arrive at the end of our third game, and with each passing minute, she’s loosened up more and seems, at least from what I can tell, to be having a good time. That’s exactly what I wanted. She needed to relax and let everything else go, and just be carefree again.
I’ll catch her swaying to the music or cheering on a small child who is bowling in the lane beside us with his family. She’s incredible to watch. Her energy lights up the room, and it’s like everyone is enamored by her. She even gets cheers from the nearby lanes when she gets a strike.
“Do you want another drink? You’ll need it for the disappointment coming your way.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes to the drink, and I’ll be ignoring the rest of that comment.”
I type in the order on the screen and send it over to the bar.
“While you wait on that, watch and learn, Wanda.” I rise from my seat next to her and grab the bowling ball from the returner.
“What can I learn from mediocre technique?”
“Ouch. You’re feisty after a couple beers.” I step up onto the oiled, wooden floors and toward our lane.
“So I’ve been told.”
I line up my shot, making sure my stance is just the way I want, and I take two steps, pull my arm back then sling it forward, sending the ball careening down the slick lane toward the pins.
Stay center. Stay center. No. No. No. Not left.
“Ha!” She raises both hands in the air in excitement.
“Shit.”
I only knocked down half of the pins in what is certainly my most pathetic display of athletic ability… ever.
“I’m sorry, whose ass is whose?” she asks, as she rises from her seat and does a little dance.
I scrub my hand over my jaw, making my way back to get my ball when it rolls back up into the return rack.
“You’re even more beautiful when you’re happy like this.”
“Do I not always look happy?” She stops dancing and steps a little closer to me.
“That’s not what I mean. You’ve always had this tense, less than sure, vibe about you, at least around me. I’m glad you’re able to be like this though.”
“You’re just trying to deflect from the fact I just beat you.” She crosses her arms across her chest, like she’s trying to protect herself from something, but her smile doesn’t match her posture.
“And you’re trying to deflect from the fact I just gave you a compliment and you don’t want to accept it.”
She drops her gaze for a fleeting moment then brings it back up to me.
“You make me nervous, that’s all.”
I, very slowly so she knows my intent, reach out and slide my hand around her body and lay it flat at the small of her back.
“Don’t be nervous with me.” I give her a gentle pull toward me, and I can feel the warmth of her body. She’s flushed all over from the alcohol, and she’s radiating heat.
“I can’t help it. You’re just very,” she pauses and places her hand on my chest, “intense.”
Intense isn’t a word I would ever use to describe myself, but knowing this beautiful woman, with her curvy, petite body, stunningly impressive personality, and goddess-like face thinks I’m intense makes me want to pound my chest in alpha male pride.
The lighting in the entire alley shifts to a darker, deep red, almost like a darkroom for photography, and the slow beat of a new song seeps from the speakers.
“This is Harry Styles,” she says plainly, with no explanation.
“What?”
“Singing this song. It’s Harry Styles.” She licks her lips. “Sorry, when I get nervous, I talk a lot.”
“I can see that,” I say, as the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile. “I think it’s cute.”
“You do?”
“There is nothing about you I don’t like, Sawyer.”
Harry Styles croons on around us about an infamous “she” and it’s setting the scene before us like it was plopped right out of a movie.
I’m not sure when it happened, but we seem to have slipped into a slow, barely moving dance to the gentle beat of the song.
I sneak a peek at her full lips that have been making me laugh, heckling me, teasing me, and having brilliant conversations with me all night, and all I can think about in this moment is how desperately I want to kiss them.
A guitar solo has taken over as I lean forward, making my intention clear, giving her every chance to pull back, but she doesn’t stop me.
Instead, she pushes up on her tiptoes to meet me in the middle.
Time slows, and when I am so close I can hear her intake of breath before our lips meet, the music disappears and a voice sounds over the intercom system.
“Wanda Wannadoher, your drink is ready at the bar. Wanda Wannadoher.”
She drops back down off her toes and drops her head to my chest, laughing.
“Oh my God.” She covers her face with both hands. “That’s so embarrassing.” She must feel my chest moving because she immediately looks up at me and narrows her gaze. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes. I’m absolutely laughing at you. It’s funny.” I place my hands on her hips, giving them a slight squeeze then I take a step back, my body still high on the near kiss. “I’ll go get your drink, Wanda. Then we have some bowling to finish.”
***
“I deserve a trophy, Willie,” Sawyer
says when we step out into the crisp, night air after our final game. The moon is shining overhead and the lights from the parking lot lead the way.
“You’re enjoying bruising my ego, aren’t you?” I place my hand on my chest. “I’m hurt.”
“Very much so, yes. I never win anything, ever, so this is just exciting for me.”
We walk slowly, side by side, down the sidewalk toward the spot in the back of the parking lot where my truck is.
“For someone who hasn’t bowled in years, you definitely picked it up fast.”
“Maybe it’s like riding a bike?”
“Maybe or maybe I’ve been hustled?” I take a chance and slip my hand into hers. She doesn’t even hesitate to lace her fingers with mine.
The sound of our shoes on the pavement mixes with the sound of crickets calling out loudly to their mates.
“I wouldn’t know how to properly hustle someone at all. I have no poker face whatsoever. I’m terrible.”
“Remind me to arrange a strip poker match with you one day,” I joke.
“I’d be better off just arriving naked.”
The images flying through my head go from tame to filthy in two point five seconds, and I have to clear my throat because my body can’t process it without some kind of reaction.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I open the passenger door and she steps up into the truck, with the aid of my hand on her hip.
“Thank you,” she says softly as she settles into her seat.
“You’re welcome.”
The drive back to her house is filled with simple conversation and there isn’t a single moment of awkwardness. I will admit a sense of disappointment settles in when I roll to a stop in her driveway.
“I had a really great time, Isaac.” She unbuckles and angles her body toward me.
“So did I. I really mean that.” I unhook my seat belt and open my door. “I’ll walk you to the door. Can’t be too cautious at night, right?”
Her door isn’t that far from where we are, but any reason to spend a bit more time with her is good by me, and it’s the polite thing to do.
When we climb the stairs of her small, wooden porch she digs in her bag and pulls out her keys, tossing them gently back and forth in her hands, her nerves apparent.
“Thank you for taking me out tonight. It really helped me in ways you can’t even know.” She stands with her shoulder perpendicular to the front door, and I move to stand in front of her.
“You don’t have to thank me for spending time with you because, Sawyer, I promise you, the pleasure is mine.”
“So you’d consider date number two a success? Maybe date number three will be even better.”
“Is this you agreeing to seeing me again?”
“I think it is.” She clears her throat a bit then slips her key into the lock. “I should get inside. I still have some papers to grade now that my buzz is wearing off,” she giggles.
“I’ll call you?” I ask.
“I hope so.”
I want to go in for the kiss, but I don’t want her to think I’m coming on too strong, even in the wake of the almost kiss in the bowling alley.
So I opt for a peck on the cheek, and when I pull back there is a flash of something in her eyes. Is it disappointment? Confusion?
“Goodnight, Sawyer.”
“Goodnight, Isaac.”
I stand on the porch until she is inside and I hear the lock click into place.
The entire walk from her door to the driver’s side of my truck, all I can think about is the way her lips would taste, and how she’d feel when she melted into my kiss and pressed her body into mine.
It’s all I can think about.
Christ, I should have kissed her. She was willing and even wanting it. It was written all over her face. When did I become a pansy?
Fuck it.
I move with purposeful, powerful strides from the driveway, back up to her porch, and I deliver three loud knocks to her door.
A light in the front room flips on then the porch light follows suit.
The front door pulls open and she greets me just as I left her, except she has bare feet and the cutest blue painted toenails I’ve ever seen.
“Isaac? Are you all right?”
I step toward her, “No, I just forgot to do this.”
I clasp her face in my hands and pull her lips to mine.
There is no resistance, no pushback or pulling away. I can feel her wrap her hands around my wrists and hold on to me as her lips part, allowing my tongue access to her soft, perfect mouth.
She tastes like sugar with a bit of tang from her drinks. It’s intoxicating, and if I’m not careful, I could get drunk on her right here where I stand.
I’ve kissed plenty of women in my life. Some have been mediocre, some have been pretty great, but nothing compares to kissing Sawyer Westbrook.
I can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest against mine, and her body begins this slight sway, almost as if she doesn’t even have control of her movements anymore. She’s just completely lost in this moment with me.
Her tongue finds a slow, perfect rhythm in a dance with mine before I finally pull away with a tug of her bottom lip between my teeth, and then a gentle kiss to it.
“There,” I slide my thumb along her jawline, “Now I’m all right.”
I step back from her with a grin before turning on my heel and heading back down to my truck.
Chapter 9
Sawyer
I can still feel that kiss on my lips three days later as I’m packing up my bag after dismissing my final class for the weekend.
I can still taste his tongue when I get home forty minutes later and collapse onto my back on the bed, with a smile on my face that has been there since the minute he pulled out of my driveway.
I’ve never had a kiss, a single kiss, affect me this much for this long. It was unexpected and absolutely perfect.
We’ve been texting constantly this week too, which is new for me. It makes me feel like a teenager with a crush. I stay up late when he’s on shift, texting about nothing and everything at the same time. It’s nice to have this connection with someone again. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the butterflies, and boy does he make my stomach flutter.
The last thing I expected was to actually like him, but he makes me feel comfortable and safe in a way I haven’t in so long. When I look at him, he isn’t a flashing beacon that reminds me of my brother. If anything, he’s helping me heal by actually living.
And at the end of the day, that’s what Jason would want.
My phone is flashing on the counter when I step out of the shower a few hours after arriving home. I wrap myself in a towel, hair still soaking wet sending water dripping down my back.
Isaac: I’d like to apologize on behalf of all men.
Me: I appreciate that. You men definitely aren’t sending us your best, but what inspired this apology?
Isaac: I work with pigs, Sawyer, absolute pigs.
Me: I don’t know. Judging by the calendar Liv showed me, you work with some foxes to me.
Isaac: I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.
Me: Jealous?
Isaac: Of these guys? Hell no.
Me: LOL! Slow night?
Isaac: I’ll never admit to that. Not out loud. It’s a one-way ticket to a long-ass night.
Me: Do you have plans tomorrow after you sleep?
I’m going out on a limb here. I’m showing my hand and opening myself up to the possibility of being hurt, but the truth is, I miss him and I’d like to see him.
Isaac: That depends.
Me: On?
Isaac: If this pretty great girl wants to hang out. If she does, I’ll be with her.
My instant thought is one any typical, self-conscious girl has. Oh, he’s absolutely not talking about me. But I stifle that voice straight down where it belongs and stay as confident as possible.
Me: I think that girl a
bsolutely wants to hang out with you. Maybe at her place?
Isaac: I was hoping that would be the case.
Me: 7? We can have dinner?
I place the phone on my bed so I can dry off and get dressed. I return fifteen minutes later in shorts and my favorite baggy tee, completely moisturized and feeling good, but my text still remains unread. He’s likely out on a call.
He was right. We shouldn’t have even spoken of the slow evening.
I try not to worry about him as I slip into bed a few hours later when I haven’t heard from him.
It’s not until my phone lights up just as I’m dozing off that I feel even a moment of relief.
Isaac: I told you not to mention the calm. There’s always a storm shortly after.
Another text appears before I even have a chance to respond to this one.
Isaac: 7 is perfect. I’ll see you then. Sleep tight, baby.
Me: Stay safe.
Isaac: Always.
Isaac
I sit with sweat and dirt on my face while the entire station showers after returning back from what turned out to be one of the worst boating accidents I’ve seen in my time here.
I would never say it is easy to shake off the things I see on a daily basis, but a child died tonight right in front of me.
That’s something you can’t just wash away.
I try to keep my work outside of my life once I step out of those doors. That’s why I texted Sawyer back and didn’t say anything about what happened. I just wanted to confirm our time together, because the first thing I wanted to do once I left the scene was go see her.
But I couldn’t.
“You all right out here?” Grady asks, when he comes down from the bunk area with a towel around his neck.
“Not really,” I answer him as honestly as I can.
“Never gets easier does it?” He sinks to sit on the bench beside me.
I’m still sitting by the truck, still in my gear from the waist down. The bay water is still soaked into my boots, and I can still smell it everywhere.
