Page 46 of Jesse's Girl
“Fuck!” she exclaims with a cringe.
“He was piiiiiissed.” I huff out a laugh. “Had to go hide behind a parked car and drop trou’ just to get it all out of there.”
“Fucking Marcus, always taking off his damn pants in public,” she says, shaking her head and setting her coffee mug beside her.
“Yeah, well, he seems to have grown up a bit since then, thankfully.”
“Yeah, we all have. Thank God.” Her eyes slide to my sweat-soaked chest, and she quickly looks away.
“Yeah,” I reply, unable to stop my gaze from wandering down to her full lips.
“Anyway, uh… you wanna come?” she asks. “Full disclosure: I can’t promise any ass-crack popcorn, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up. “I think I’ll live without experiencing that on a personal level.”
“Fair enough,” she says, arching a brow. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” She searches my expression, then her open smile falters. “Unless you’re busy with your mom…”
Is she disappointed?
“Uh, no,” I say. “I can come.” I swig the last of my coffee and step toward her to place my mug in the sink.
She tracks my movement as I reach past her.
I lean in close, dropping my voice low. “Loser wears the popcorn.”
She snorts as I walk away and, before I can turn into the bathroom to take a shower, a tea towel hits me in the back of the head.
The bowling alley is surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night. As we pour through the front doors, the musty scent of lane oil and shoe disinfectant mingles with the savory aroma of buttered popcorn, hitting me in a punch of nostalgia. The kids rush past me and Ada like rivers around boulders, immediately clustering around the arcade machines.
Ada searches through her backpack and pulls out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Referring to the sheet, she murmurs to herself as she counts the kids. Then she seems to count them a second time.
“Did we lose any?” I ask, mostly joking.
She finishes counting. “No. There are thirteen kids, plus you and me… so, fifteen total. Wait—the kid in the white hat over there… that’s Rolando… but does this say Rolando or Ronaldo?” She angles the list toward me. “They both signed up, but then Ronaldo couldn’t come tonight.”
I step closer, peering over her shoulder. “Lemme see…”
She runs a hand through her hair, sending her sweet coconut-and-cherry scent floating up to me.
I inhale, admittedly taking a little longer than necessary to check the list. “The top one is Rolando.”
“Thanks. I’ve mixed those two up so many fucking times,” she mutters under her breath, then scribbles a crooked check mark on the sheet. “I have no issue telling who’s who in person, but the paperwork always trips me up.” The quiet way she says the words, clearly intending them for my ears only, feels almost… intimate.
I keep my mouth shut, careful not to make a big deal about helping her out. Despite her confidence about dyslexia when she’d stood up to her parents the other day, there’s vulnerability in the way she won’t quite meet my eyes.
A teenage girl approaches us and we both look up.
“Do we have to wear those ugly bowling shoes?” she asks.
“Yeah, sorry, Sofia,” Ada says. “I know they’re kind of tragic, but it’s a time-honored tradition. Plus, we’ll all be equally hideous, so it levels the playing field.”
“Okay.” Sofia lifts her chin at me. “Is your boyfriend gonna bowl with us?”
Ada and I both physically recoil, stepping apart. “No, uh,” I stammer. “I mean, yes, I’m just—” My gaze flits between Ada and Sofia.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ada corrects her, rescuing me by being able to produce a coherent sentence.
“Why not?” Sofia asks, shamelessly looking me up and down. “He’s cute.”