Page 110 of This I Promise You
“Not bad, not bad.” Paul tries to pep me up, clapping.
I give him a strange look while I wait for my ball to come back through the ball machine or whatever it’s called.
“Not bad? Are you…blind?” I yell over the music, refraining from using the F-word since I have to scream in here, and well, it’s supposed to be a family-friendly zone.
He laughs and walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He gives me a little squeeze and it makes it a bit better.
“You’re trying, Belle, that’s all that matters.” Paul melts my heart again. Like, stop it!
My ball pops out of the machine and I grab it up.
“Nah, I want to beat your ass, that’s what matters,” I spout back, trying to act like I care that much. I don’t, well, not really, except it would be cool to beat him and be able to brag about it the rest of the night.
“Have at it.” He lets go of me and waves his hand dramatically toward the ten remaining bowling pins, with a gargantuan smile.
I roll my eyes and approach the lane. The light glares across my vision and I feel a tiny pang at the corner of my eye. They really need to calm the hell down on the lighting. Like, really? I refocus, but it’s hard to see the pins in the dim lighting. I take my stance and go for it. The ball spins down the lane, and thank God it doesn’t go straight for the gutter. I lean in, watching it fly forward, then crash into the pins on the left.
“Three? Really? Just three?” I throw my head back.
My score updates as I walk back, and Paul’s already up.
“You’re having fun, right?” He comes up before taking his turn.
“Of course I am.” The weird part is it’s true. This isn’t something I’d probably do voluntarily with Aidan or my dad or Samantha, but it’s what Paul wanted to do today, so I didn’t even question it. Is that weakness? No. Definitely not.
“Okay,” though he doesn’t sound convinced.
I give him a smile and slap his butt when he starts off. He jumps and shakes his head. It’s not his thing. So naturally I’ve made a habit of it. The good news is that Icando that now; he’s come a long way. I swear Dr. Orleen is a miracle worker. I’m proud of him.
“Go babe!” I yell as he keeps shaking his head and makes his way to the lane.
When I take a seat I notice the group of old dudes in the lane two over from us. They’re staring at me in disgust. Inside, my chest tightens. I don’t want trouble, but I’m not letting them ruin this day for me. No matter how small-minded they might be. So I give them a big wave and smile. “Kill ‘em with kindness” is what my dad always says, so consider yourselves dead.
Refocusing on Paul, I watch him glide toward the lane and release his ball in a way that looks like art. When I do it, I look like a bumbling idiot. The ball shoots down the lane and smacks the pins, sending every last one to the ground. He spins around, hands in the air.
“Strike!”
“Good job!” I yell. Sucks for me, but I ain’t winning anyway.
Two rounds later we wrap up the game with Paul leading 122 to my sixty-seven. It could have been worse, but it also could have been better. I mean we could have used the kiddie guards. That would have gotten me a few extra points.
“Another game or the arcade?” Paul hooks his arm around me and pulls me close.
“Uh, arcade,” I say in the most obvious way possible. “I can at least beat you in Skee-Ball, maybe evenStreet Fighter!”
“Oh, I dare you to try.”
“Challenge accepted.” I throw off my bowling shoes and slip back into my sneakers.
The arcade is in the same building. There’s a bowling area, obviously, a massive arcade, laser tag, a mini golf course out back, concessions, and even this big kids’ playhouse type of thing. We skip past the food court and enter the land of beeps and pops and screaming children. One of the little monsters nearly clips me coming around the gawkyJurassic Parkgame, and I’m reminded once more why I think I’ll never want any of my own.
Maybe I should mention that to Paul. Hell, what if he wants kids? The possibility hadn’t crossed my mind before. What if he wants a full house of kids? I’m about to ask, but I stop myself when my game comes into view. Skee-Ball. I used to dominate in this when Dad would take us.
“It’s time for you to lose.” I stick out my tongue and he shoves me playfully. “Let’s not get violent now.”
“Violent?” He shakes his head like I offended him, then laughs as I put tokens I bought earlier in each of our machines, lined up side by side.
The balls roll into their little container and I grab the first one. Paul does the same, and I can see the competition building in his eyes. Please be bad at this, Paul. Please be bad at this!
