Reluctant Mate

Chapter 19

  “Do you wanna go first?” I asked him as he finished lacing up his bowling shoes.

  “Ladies first.”

  With both our initials in the machine, I pressed enter to start the game. There was no need to brag about my little bowling talent because it wasn’t nice to boost, but I was extremely excited to show off and possibly beat him at something finally.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he taunted, while my fingers reached for the ball.

  I paused. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  He smirked, with humor filtered in his eyes. “Another bet?” he asked.

  I cocked my brow at him. “Are you sure you wanna do that? I mean, I am pretty good.”

  “So am I,” he informed, surprising me.

  “Really?”

  “Sorta,” he changed up, less confident in his fib. “But I'm willing to make a wager. It could get interesting.” He winked.

  “Okay, Mister likes to lose a lot. With every strike I get, you have to answer a question,” I suggested.

  “Strike? You're a little confident,” he mused, lightheartedly jabbing me with his comeback.

  “Take it or leave it?”

  “Fine. But with every spare I get, you have to answer a question of my choice.”

  “You think you can get a spare?” I taunted.

  “Take it or leave it,” he mimicked.

  “Whatever gets the ball rolling,” I concurred, then stepped up, placed my toes on the point I found the best for throwing the ball out, and pulled a curve ball from the right side of the lane. 

  My stance was a little too arrogant when I turned back to him.

  “How old were you when you had your first kiss?” I blasted.

  He shook his head but answered. “Fourteen.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Un uh. That’s one-two many questions I'm required to answer.”

  My eyes narrowed on him, but I moved aside so he could take his first turn. Just not without taking a swat of my ass first as he passed by.

  I cleared my throat and waited for him to take his turn. Impressively, knocking down eight pins before taking another try. This was going to be an interesting game because he got the spare with ease.

  “How old were you when you had your first kiss?” he countered.

  “Sixteen.” When he realized that was the only detail I was willing to share, he surrendered more information about his own experience.

  “Her name was Aly, something. I don’t remember her last name, but it was getting cold outside—probably October—and the school was having basketball try-outs for boys and girls, and by the time it ended, it was dark outside. She asked to walk home with me because we were neighbors—literally like three or four houses apart—and she kissed me as a thank you.”

  Interesting. “Cool,” I replied, moving past him with a smirk, deciding to keep my first kiss to myself because it would crawl under his skin.

  “Aren’t you gonna tell me his name?” he pressed in a disbelieving tone.

  I pretended to ignore him for the few seconds it took me to pick up my ball. “His name was Andrew Maxwell, and it was at the school spring dance.”