Page 80 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” I say. “But if anyone is going to bowl between the two of us, it’s me.”
“Billionaires don’t bowl.”
“Yes, they do,” I counter. “They just usually bowl in their own bowling alleys in their homes.”
Her lips twist to the side, causing me to laugh. “Either way, how do you want to handle this? Are you going to talk to her? I think you should at least say something like…wow, what a great night.”
“Wow, what a great night?” I deadpan. “That’s the kind of conversation you want me to have with Maple? That’s awkward as shit.”
“Uh, yeah, and at least it’s better than falling into her cleavage as a greeting.”
My expression flattens as I stare down at her.
She smirks. “And remember she liked the awkward. She liked the goof. She thought it was endearing, so to warm her up we need another nose-to-boob situation without actually doing nose to boob.”
“You want me to be awkward?”
“Don’t you think that’s the best strategy? I’ve done some immense work on my end, building you up and trying to integrate you back in her life. She likes the awkward, so let’s give her the awkward.”
I scratch the side of my cheek. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right, now, how is your underwear?” she asks. “Because bowling would be the perfect time to split your pants.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “I told you, underwear is always good, but these are nice pants—I don’t want to split them.”
She glances down at my pants and then back up at me. “What makes them nice? They seem average at best.”
“They’re not average. Easily above-average pants.”
“How so?” She steps back and studies them. “They’re jeans. They look okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, feeling my jaw go slack in shock. “They’re more than okay. They’re my best jeans.”
“Best jeans? That’s a bit of a stretch because I just don’t see it. If I were you, I’d be ready and willing to rip the crotch on those.”
“I’m not ripping the crotch of these jeans,” I say. “Think of something else.”
“Something else to embarrass you?”
“I mean, if that’s the route you think we need to take?”
She taps her chin. “How do you feel about a fake fart? I’m good at making fart sounds with my mouth. Listen to this…pfffft.”
“Uh…no.”
“Shame,” she sighs. “Okay, what about losing your balance and smashing your head into the wall. She seems to like it when you put your head into things.”
I glance at the wall and then back at her. “No.”
“That was a good one, but okay. Uh, you babbled a lot last time, so maybe you can do the same thing this time. Ooo, or drop the bowling ball on your toe. Hilarious and awkward.”
“And painful,” I say.
She waves her hand in dismissal. “Oh, who really cares about pain?”
I point to my chest. “I do. I care about pain.”
“Seems like you should care less.”
