Examine

nineteen

ASHLEY

I'm dizzy, probably high off my impending victory. Turns out Michael sucks at bowling.

Jason howls in laughter as Michael manages to bowl into the gutter again. I wasn't even paying attention to where the ball went, my eyes were too fixated on how good Michael's ass looks in those dark jeans.

"This is why I wanted to go bowling," Jason tells his boyfriend, Oscar, and me.

Michael turns around with a roll of his eyes. He gives Jason the middle finger before walking over to where I'm sitting on the opposite couch.

He falls into a heap onto the couch beside me, the seat compressing under him. He chuckles. "I don't know how you do it. My score is barely a quarter of your score."

"If you reach 40, you're a winner to me," I tell him with a smile, content to lean back in my seat as we wait for Jason and Oscar to bowl.

My heart is beating rapidly being this close to Michael's warm body. His woodsy, earthy scent a tantalising hit to my senses. I've never been driven wild by a person's scent before, but something about Michael's pheromones makes me want to crawl over him and straddle his lap.

I imperceptibly shift closer to him to get more of his smell.

"If you want, we can get one of those kids rail things to put your ball down." I nod my head to a kid a few lanes down who is using one.

"No, it's too embarrassing." 

Michael turns toward me and for a moment I think he is going to hide his face in the crook of my neck. He's so cute. His gaze glances over my lips and I can feel something deep within me tighten in yearning. 

"But then again, if it helps me hit 40, I just might." He grins cockily. "I want to be a winner in your eyes."

Fuck, I can't resist him with those sexy grins and endearing demeanour. Or maybe it's just his scent that is sending my body into overdrive. To test out this hypothesis I lean closer to him and sniff him subtly.

"Did you just sniff me?" Michael asks in amusement.

"Ashley, your turn," Jason calls out.

I quickly stand up, relieved that I can evade that discerning question that I 100 per cent don't want to answer.

"Watch how the pro does it," I tell Michael cheekily as I pick up my pink bowling ball. 

I concentrate on lining my ball up, swinging my arm low and slow, before releasing. No matter how many times I do this, I'm always worried my thumb will get stuck in the hole.

I get my third strike for the game, and even I'm a little surprised. I bow in mock joy, as Jason and Oscar clap, and as I stand upright I find Michael is already striding toward me. 

"Teach me."

He's practically begging. Not that it sounds like it. There is dominance and demand imbued in his tone, and I can see him directing me in bed.

I can't contain my smirk, but I acknowledge his request. "If you insist."

His turn is next after all.

He looks sincerely, deeply into my eyes. "I do. Please, Ash, I need your help."

You'd think he'd asked me to assist him in a life-saving surgery, not to help his bowling technique.

"Okay, okay, pick up your ball."

He does. He listens carefully to my instructions and adjusts his stance, where he stands, and even the way he's gripping the ball when I tell him to.