Secret Rulebook of Cheating

Rule #7: Sex with an Ex is Still Sex

“Nikki, no!” Rob sprung from his seat and stood by my side. He was clearly getting annoyed with my lack of skills – and frankly, so was I – and came to my aid. “You’re not doing it right. You have to release the ball with a swing.”

“That’s what I’m doing!” I argued.

“No, what you’re doing is dropping it on the lane. You have to use your whole arm. Guide the ball to the centre.” His arm swung forward, demonstrating the tip.

“I am!” I nearly stomped my feet. This was starting to get a little frustrating.

“If you were, it wouldn’t drop in the gutter before the middle of the lane.”

A low grunt roared in my throat. We’d been playing for fifteen minutes now and I hadn’t knocked a single pin down. You’d wonder what I was doing in a bowling hall when evidently, I sucked.

“It’s no use.” I lifted my hands in the air, surrendering. “Sports hate me.”

“This isn’t even a real sport.” Jason walked coolly around me, positioning himself at the foot of the lane.

Yep. Guilty. I was the worst girlfriend in the history of girlfriends. Unlike movie night last week, Jason being here tonight wasn’t a surprise to me. Rob told me when he called. I distinctly remembered, because there was this flip in my stomach at the mention of his name. I’d opened and closed the door to my closet a dozen times, thinking I would go and then dissuading myself and then considering going again. In the end I pulled out some skinny jeans and a loose white tee with some sign on the front, deciding the whole thing wasn’t such a big deal. After all, it was just bowling.

“It’s just bowling,” Jason echoed my thoughts and hurled a dark blue ball across the lane – the muscles on his right arm tensing below the sleeve of his steel blue ‘2G2BT’ T-shirt. He turned without waiting to see the result and went back to his seat.

I watched as the ball rolled right in the middle of the lane, making its way through the centre of the triangle formation of the pins, knocking all down. The animated character on the screen above our heads cried ‘strike’ in a speech bubble and looked much livelier than when it announced my ‘gutter ball’.

“Easy for you to say, Mr ‘three strike in a row’!” I muttered, dropping heavily onto my chair. I snatched my chocolate shake glass and took it out on the straw, sinking my teeth in it. It was depressing enough that I was so bad, but Jason witnessing that was simply embarrassing.

He chuckled from the chair across the metal table. “Six would be more accurate.”

My head jerked up. “No way are you hitting six in a row!”

“Way. I’m just warming up.”

“No one’s that good.” Or maybe he was. I also thought no one could look sexy in bowling shoes. He rocked those.

“It’s my personal record,” Jason stated proudly, his chin high up. There was a gleam in his eyes, which made them bluer. And dreamier.

I narrowed mine. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You won’t have to wait long.” He winked at me and I could swear my pulse quickened a little. Could he not do things like staring into my eyes, smiling and winking? My body wasn’t immune to those.

“So Dayan’s not coming tonight?” I had to ask. Bringing her up was my vitamin C.

Jason raised his eyebrows. “I’m starting to get the feeling you’d rather hang with her than me.”

I blinked a couple times. Boy, if he knew how wrong he was.

“It was just a question.”

It was my turn so I had to leave the conversation at that. I picked up the violet ball, I had chosen - it went with the colour of the bowling shoes the guy at the counter had given me - with the number twelve printed on its surface and sent it down the lane, trying to mimic Rob’s arm swing. Guess what happened! Gutter ball. Both tries. At least this time it rolled longer before it dropped out.