Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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While I fully believe one can microdose hell by going to bowling alleys, this one didn't seem too bad.
It wasn't the sticky-floored, outdated kind of place you went to for kids' birthday parties. No, this was a sleek, neon-drenched haven of modern fun.
LED lights pulsed in shades of purple, pink, and blue, casting a soft haze over everything. The lanes stretched out like runways under glowing lights, the smooth surfaces reflecting every flicker and flash.
Each lane had its own booth—sleek, black leather with neon trim lights that lit up faintly beneath the edges. Trays of food sat on polished tables, loaded with fries, nachos, and wings that smelled so good they could've been cooked by angels.
The air was a perfect blend of buttery popcorn, faint citrusy air freshener, and the buzz of energy that came with the sound of pins crashing in quick succession.
'Lavender Haze' by Taylor Swift hummed through the speakers, the steady beat syncing with the colorful lights overhead. It all felt surreal, like stepping into a dream that smelled like barbecue sauce.
Tonight, the Alley was damn packed. Screeching bachelorette parties, birthday celebrations, other students from UC, all coming to check it out.
And all had their eyes on Lane 8.
On the Charlotte Colts.
There were about 10 of them, all looking fresh as fuck in their normal civilian clothes—which didn't make them look like normal civilians at all.
Especially when Elroy Biggs' is basically hitting the ceiling with his head.
They had commanded the room the second they walked down onto the bowling floor but their easy smiles and laughter told me they didn't care—in fact, they were use to it.
Being in the lane next to them meant we could be as rowdy and loudy as hell because no one was even passing us a glance.
Jude had taken over the naming of everyone on the scoreboard, and it was exactly as chaotic as you'd imagine.
Scarlett is "Hot Bitch Supreme." Naturally.
Tasha is "Power Couple #1."
Which meant Liam is "Power Couple #2."
Jude himself is "Glitter Daddy," and I was "Sexiest Woman Alive."
Lane 8—the football guys' lane—was just as ridiculous. Rome had taken over their names with as much dedication as Jude had ours.
Clay is labeled "Reverse Cowgirl."
Wes, of course, is "Golden Boy."
And Rome had fittingly given himself the title of "King."
We're mid-game, pins are falling, and drinks are flowing. And I gotta admit—it's so much fucking fun.
Glitter Daddy just manages to knock down all but one pin, which led to him dramatically throwing himself into the booth like a lover upon their deceased soulmate's grave.
