Stay in your Lane (On Hold)

Chapter Eleven ~ Bowling

Chapter Eleven

Despite the fact that there were thirty other empty lanes available, Travis still chose lane twenty-one. I shouldn't have been surprised. He loved to annoy me, and, well, it was sort of his spot. Daddy always chose these two lanes when we would practice as kids, insisting they were in the best condition. Then, when Daddy stopped coming, and we got old enough to bring ourselves, we stuck to them.

It wasn't a good environment to find myself alone with him. It was too nostalgic, and it would be too easy to slip back into old habits.

Travis took a seat and began changing his shoes. "So—" He focused on tying his laces, taking longer than necessary. "—You're actually dating the snack guy?"

"His name is Sawyer." I picked my ball off the return and gave him my back. My stance didn't feel as steady. My mind didn't drift too far. I was too aware of his presence behind me. Too conscious of his attention. I took a deep breath through my nose, blew it slowly out my mouth, then on muscle memory alone, I took my shot.

It wasn't the prettiest, but I'd never been more relieved to get a strike in my life.

I turned and found him watching; I knew he would be. His gaze flicked up, meeting mine. "I thought you were lying."

Because I am. But I didn't say that. No. Instead, I nodded and lied some more. "Well, I wasn't."

Travis stood as he lifted the shiny, new ball from his bag. A mix of glittering orange, red, and silver swirled across its surface, becoming shinier as he wiped it down with his towel. I swallowed hard. Even I didn't have the audacity to say I wasn't jealous. Like everything else in my life, Travis Baker had what I wanted.

"Want to touch it?" His voice was smooth, taunting, dirty.

I narrowed my eyes. "No."

Travis grinned. "Are you sure?" He took a step closer, hugging his ball with one arm as he leaned in. "I promise not to tell snack-boy."

I hesitated, because I wanted to. God, all of it would have been so incredibly easy if I actually hated him. "He's a snack-man, Travis, and no, I don't want to touch it."

"Liar," he murmured, serious now. He didn't step away, but he didn't move closer either. Silence was like a tether, holding us in place. "I asked him if you were seeing anyone," he finally whispered.

"Yeah, well, Frank wouldn't like it, so we've been keeping it between us."

"I see." He studied my face. Deep down, he knew I was full of shit. Travis knew me too well not to. Even as kids, he'd always called me out when I was lying. Like when I said I'd bowled a three-hundred when it had only been a two-eighty-nine. When I'd said everything was fine at home, even though the fighting kept me awake at night. Travis knew.

But that was a lifetime ago, and it wasn't far-fetched to think Frank wouldn't allow his employees to fraternize. Frank wouldn't have allowed bathroom breaks if it wasn't for the cost of carpet cleaning.

Travis seemed to contemplate saying more, but instead, he stepped back and focused on the screen. "Want to do league play? You're in the tenth frame. I could wait."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. It didn't feel like the right time to bowl against him. My mind was too frazzled. My nerves too shot. But it was better to do it now than to wait until the Turkey bowl. It couldn't get much worse than this, and, if I wanted to win, I had better get used to it. "Sure."

I forced my attention back to my game, allowing the years I'd spent practicing without him to carry me through the tension. I struck out, finishing strong with a two-sixty-five.