Bowling Dreams & Cheap Wine

Chapter 14

Hours later, the kiss isn't what keeps me awake. It's the infuriating sound of a basketball. Up and down. Up and down. Just when I close my eyes the noise is back and worse than a leaky faucet. I lay in my bed with my pillow squeezed against my ears hoping it will go away. It does—only because someone drives by with a subwoofer drowning out the beat of the ball. Once gone, the b-ball player is back at it. I haven't worked out—how—with the dogs barking now how this late-night agitator has gotten away with it this far.

Sleepy eyes and all, I drag myself out of bed and go over to the window. There's no one that I can see. Lights are coming on in the windows which means my inbox will be flooded with complaints in about five seconds. I don't actually know who to call in the event of a non-emergency so I dial 9-1-1.

"9-1-1-what's your emergency?" the operator asks.

"Someone's bouncing a basketball up and down my street," I say swiftly with a sleepy mumble. I give her my whereabouts and toss in, "I'm president of the HOA. It's been going on for weeks."

The operator is extremely calm, but I can tell she's thinking, no one's been stabbed? No one's holding you at gunpoint? I'm not getting sleep though. Neither is this entire street. There are going to be a lot of pissed-off people in the morning.

"Ma'am, this line is for emergency calls only." She gives me a number to call, but I hit my head against the pillow and lay awake.

In the morning, I need a strong dose of caffeine before dealing with the emails and the comments on the community HOA page. I reach out to other members of the HOA, who conveniently haven't made the last three meetings. Putting their fears to rest, I assure them I called the police and my morning is spent texting about community by-laws.

Sure enough, outrage is spreading that the HOA hasn't done anything about the elusive basketball player. I calm the chatter which now includes a group of volunteers forming a midnight watch group.

User567: Meet at Lazy Days. Tonight 11 p.m.

Yolanda92: I'll bring snacks.

FreddyFO: I've got flashlights.

GiGiPan: Could we get Lazy Days to open?

Yolanda92: I have torches.

User657: I'll have a diagram and route instructions.

This is exactly what I don't want to happen, a group of homeowners caravanning around the streets in search of the basketball player carrying bags of potato chips and flashlights—Why the hell does Yolanda92 have torches? This isn't Paul Revere's Midnight Ride.

All this community chatter ate up my workout time. I had been about to enter the world of cardio-yoga because I'm hoping it'll be easier than the Insanity workout videos. With a quick shower and haphazard ponytail, I move onto more important things.

The line outside of Lazy Days is stretching past my front door and Nate's. This can only mean one thing.

Lazy Days has a mystery donut flavor. It happens once every few months without warning. They don't advertise. It spreads purely via social media that there is a one-time donut creation. Locking my door, I get in the back of the line.

I take my phone and send a photo of the line to Daphne. This used to be our thing. We would work as a team so neither of us had to wait in line at once. I put my phone away, exhaling a long breath. Nate's kiss is the bright spot in all this, but I haven't been told the Mams and with Tamara angry at me, the news that my neighbor and I locked lips feels trivial.

But still. That kiss was perfect. His mouth felt so warm and firm against mine. It stays with me, giving my stomach plenty of lovely knots. It seemed to go on forever, our mouths desperate and his arms pulling me close. It was long enough for me to know there's something between us. Something strong and good. I want more of his kisses. I want all of them. It's been so long...since I've wanted.