“Do you wanna go first?” I asked him as he finished lacing up his bowling shoes.
“Ladies first.”
With both our initials in the machine, I pressed enter to start the game. There was no need to brag about my little bowling talent because it wasn’t nice to boost, but I was extremely excited to show off and possibly beat him at something finally.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” he taunted, while my fingers reached for the ball.
I paused. “That sounds like a challenge.”
He smirked, with humor filtered in his eyes. “Another bet?” he asked.
I cocked my brow at him. “Are you sure you wanna do that? I mean, I am pretty good.”
“So am I,” he informed, surprising me.
“Really?”
“Sorta,” he changed up, less confident in his fib. “But I'm willing to make a wager. It could get interesting.” He winked.
“Okay, Mister likes to lose a lot. With every strike I get, you have to answer a question,” I suggested.
“Strike? You're a little confident,” he mused, lightheartedly jabbing me with his comeback.
“Take it or leave it?”
“Fine. But with every spare I get, you have to answer a question of my choice.”
“You think you can get a spare?” I taunted.
“Take it or leave it,” he mimicked.
“Whatever gets the ball rolling,” I concurred, then stepped up, placed my toes on the point I found the best for throwing the ball out, and pulled a curve ball from the right side of the lane.
My stance was a little too arrogant when I turned back to him.
“How old were you when you had your first kiss?” I blasted.
He shook his head but answered. “Fourteen.”
“What was her name?”
“Un uh. That’s one-two many questions I'm required to answer.”
My eyes narrowed on him, but I moved aside so he could take his first turn. Just not without taking a swat of my ass first as he passed by.
I cleared my throat and waited for him to take his turn. Impressively, knocking down eight pins before taking another try. This was going to be an interesting game because he got the spare with ease.
“How old were you when you had your first kiss?” he countered.
“Sixteen.” When he realized that was the only detail I was willing to share, he surrendered more information about his own experience.
“Her name was Aly, something. I don’t remember her last name, but it was getting cold outside—probably October—and the school was having basketball try-outs for boys and girls, and by the time it ended, it was dark outside. She asked to walk home with me because we were neighbors—literally like three or four houses apart—and she kissed me as a thank you.”
Interesting. “Cool,” I replied, moving past him with a smirk, deciding to keep my first kiss to myself because it would crawl under his skin.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me his name?” he pressed in a disbelieving tone.
I pretended to ignore him for the few seconds it took me to pick up my ball. “His name was Andrew Maxwell, and it was at the school spring dance.”
He smiled. “You were his date?”
“Yes. Nicole and I geeked over it for like a week after it happened.”
He chuckled. “Girls,” he murmured.
My nose wrinkled at him, but I proceeded to take my turn, missing a pin that, even with my second turn, was left standing.
While he stepped up next, I retreated back to the tall, circular table where our drinks sat. I watched his sculpted muscles work beneath his shirt and the flexing art of his arm when he swung the ball back and launched it forward. I was so infatuated that I missed his score and was caught drooling over him as he turned back around. Blushing, my eyes fell to my drink, but not before his lips tilted up at the corners, revealing that he was aware of my gawking eyes.
He sauntered to the table and then asked his rightfully deserved question, according to the scoreboard. “How many boys have you dated?”
“Three,” I reluctantly replied, with my chin sitting atop my tented hands. “How about you?”
“I’ve been with four women,” he surprisingly offered.
I noted his careful choice of words. “Been with?”
“Yeah.” His eyes never wavered from mine, no doubt to witness my reaction.
“Like…that?” I finally asked, feeling awkward that I couldn't just say the words I meant.
“Like that,” he confirmed, the corner of his mouth slightly turning up.
Peeling my gaze from his, I took a sip from my straw and then wordlessly disappeared down to the lane.
Like a hawk intent on his prey, his scorching stare on my backside resembled that. Torturous and deliciously agonizing. It felt like he watched me and my every move just to learn the secret pieces of me that were meant for only his eyes.
It felt both incredible and sensual.
Intimate.
I struggled to focus on the task at hand while also battling the blush creeping up my neck. He was intense, and rattled me. It had me fighting between wanting his eyes on me or giving me some privacy.
Thankfully, the strike I worked too hard for was successful, but as I turned to celebrate, he was surprisingly already there, catching me in his large arms for a smothering hug. His hands traveled from the small of my back to my waist, gripping tight and pulling me against him as his head dipped to kiss me once, slowly.
“Good job,” he congratulated in a whisper.
“Thanks.” The action made asking him a question impossible—at least until I steadied myself from his open display of affection.
Something, I guess on my part, required growing accustomed to because I had an accepting feeling it was the new normal in my life. It was how it would always be with him: a touch, a kiss, a dirty thought spoken out loud, making me blush, all done naturally and unthinkingly even in public—just the way Alex was. And I liked that. Even wished to be sure enough of myself to mirror his actions.
But there was something more tugging at my brain with that eager behavior. An odd feeling of familiarity that wasn’t a stranger to me. It felt like he couldn’t help himself; an untamed beast in need of his hands on me in some way or another at nearly all times. It wasn’t at all a bad thing, but it was a cloudy detail that was too relatable for someone who had never personally experienced it before.
With another kiss to the forehead this time, he released me. “Okay, enough fooling around. It's time to beat that nice ass of yours,” he joked.
I waited and watched until he finished his first roll of the ball, resulting in him hitting only eight pins again. On his second try, he knocked down the nine pin, leaving the ten pin standing alone.
Ambling past him, I displayed a fun fact about myself. “Have I ever told you ten is my favorite number?”
He shot me a teasing glare.
“It is true, though,” I clarified.
“My birthday is October 10th,” he stated. “Maybe it's connected—the tenth month on the tenth day…” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“You figured it out,” I sarcastically replied. “I am attracted to you for your birthday.”
“I have no doubt it's something a little more than that.”
“Maybe not so little,” I boldly confess in an attempt to discreetly give him a compliment.
“Massive?” he questioned with an arched brow.
I only smirked at him before walking away to take my turn, resulting in a split and missing the mark to take both down.
“I think I make you nervous,” he taunted.
“No, you don’t,” I lied with false confidence.
“I can sense it on you,” he quipped, nodding to emphasize the truth of that fact.
My eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair, ya know?”
“Well, I mean, I can't really help it.”
One of my brows cocked. “You say that like you would if you could.”
“Maybe I would if you asked me nicely.”
“Doubtful,” I mumbled.
He pinched my chin between his fingers. “You're probably right.” Then he took his turns, achieving another spare, before asking me another question. “Who taught you to bowl so well?”
“My mawmaw Carol. She’s incredibly good, even scoring a 300 once.”
“Oh damn,” he replied, impressed. “That’s the highest you can get, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. I was there when she did it. I swear I've never seen her so damn happy in my life.”
“Have you ever made one?”
“No. My highest score was a 237, and I still didn’t win because it was against my mawmaw.” I laughed at the irony.
“That’s pretty damn good,” he complimented, impressed with my small accomplishment.
After taking my turn, I returned to the tall table, leaning on it for support and taking a sip from my drink as he watched me.
“What?”
He tilted his head. “I’m looking at you. Can’t I just admire your beautiful face?”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, but you're looking at me like-” Like you love me, I never finished.
“Like what?”
My head shook, refusing to spill the beans. Instead, I asked, “Tell me something about you no one else knows,” I suggested as a distraction.
He considered my request for a minute. “I stole twenty dollars from my mom when I was eleven.”
I snickered. “Why?”
“I was really into basketball back then, and I had lost my ball. I couldn’t find it anywhere, but my mom wouldn’t buy me another one because I apparently wasn’t looking hard enough for it. Anyway, every day after school, a bunch of us kids would stay late and play around, and I would bring the ball. I was one of the captains and point-guard but without a ball, I guess I was afraid it would disqualify me. So I took twenty bucks from her, and the next morning before school started, I walked a couple blocks further to the General Dollar and bought one.”
“And was captain and point-guard that day after school,” I mused, smiling at his story.
“Damn straight. I used the rest of the money on some junk food or something, and my mom never noticed the missing money.”
“You criminal,” I accused.
His grin was marvelous. “Your turn,” he encouraged.
I thought about it. “That’s hard,” I confessed. “I tell Nicole everything, or she’s usually already there with me to know it.”
“How long have y’all been friends?”
“Sense kindergarten. The first day during free time, we had a tea party together, and pretty much every day after that too.”
“That’s a long time,” he mused.
“A little over fourteen years,” I agreed. “She’s the best.”
“You say you tell her everything, so does that mean she knows about me?”
To the best of my ability, I contained my grin. “Yesss,” I said, elongating my reply in an attempt to give myself even a second more to consider my answer to what I persummed would be his next question.
He nodded, appearing to like that fact. “What did you tell her?”
Nervousness was apparent in my laugh before I delayed my response by walking away to take my turn.
“So?” he pressed when I came back.
I exhaled heavily. “I texted her that we were together while you were getting the shoes,” I admitted.
His brows rose. “What does she think about that?”
“She’s content with me broadening my horizons.” That was a delicate way of describing Nicoles way of thinking.
“I like her already.”
“You should. We text about you all the time,” I disclosed.
“Really?” he drawled.
My head bobbed once atop my tented hands. “I tell her how arrogant you are,” I teased after his confidence was imploded by my prior confession.
He shook his head and chuckled. “Well, as long as you tell her I look good doing it, I won't complain.”
Leaning toward him, my mouth gaped. He chuckled at my response to his cockiness while absentmindedly dropping his hand across the table until his fingertips touched my elbow resting there.
“Of course, I didn’t mention how massively cocky you are,” I joked. “She was shocked just by the fact that I talked about you at all.”
“You mean, because of Tyler?” he asked curiously. Not at all intimidated by the idea of my ex.
“That and me liking you in general.”
“Why? Am I not your typical type?” he joked, but his eyes were filtered with a desire to seek the truth.
“I’ve only been with three boys,” I stated. “I never really knew my type, but it's definitely different in a very good way. I think you're exactly my type,” I confessed.
He nodded in obvious approval, but I wanted to clarify something further that might have been eating at his brain.
“And just so you know, I haven't talked to Tyler, and I'm not going to. I don’t know if you were wondering about that or not.”
“I don’t think about him at all,” he assured me. “Not to gloat, but I knew he was history the second you mentioned him.”
The seriousness of his words was heavy, and I fell in love with the absolute guarantee that he truly did believe that. Without a single doubt, he knew I was going to be his, even on the first day. It made me feel more cherished than I ever had before.
When it was the last frame of our third game—with the other two games evenly split—I just finished rolling my final turn, then twisted around, ready to scorn him for losing, but his attention was elsewhere down the bowling aisle.
Following his gaze, I witnessed several other larger men at the front desk checking in and wondered if Alex was acquainted with them. From his hardened features, they weren’t friends with one another.
“Do you know them?” I questioned.
“Not exactly,” he conveyed, meeting my eyes briefly before flickering back and forth between me and the men, who seemed to catch wind of something and turned in our direction.
The men first appeared to have clenched jaws, but one said something, and they shared a laugh, glancing at one another then back at us. The one with facial hair nodded, now smirking at me.
A low growl rumbled beside me, and instantly my vision was blocked by Alex’s back when he stepped in front of me. Registering the circumstances, I placed my hand on his shoulder but waited another minute for him to finally turn around.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he half spoke and growled.
His eyes were bleak with fury, his chest was visibly moving from his elevated breathing, and when he touched me, it was with less gentleness.
“I’m ready when you are,” I informed him, my hand fisting in his shirt, hoping to settle whatever river was raging inside him that was caused by the presence of the other men.
“Alright. Wait here and put your shoes on—I’ll go pay.”
My eyes flickered around his body, concerned about him going toward the other group, but another animalistic noise came from Alex that had me straightening my spine and snapping my gaze to him.
“Did you just growl at me?” I whispered seriously.
“Can I have your bowling shoes, please?” he clipped instead of answering.
Hesitating at first, I obliged, then watched his back make its way to the desk while absentmindedly toeing my sneakers on. I waited, flickering between him and the television screen hanging above the bowling lanes. As he made his return, my eyes remained glued to his while I stood to my feet and met him on the top platform.
Too quickly for me to predict, he caught me in his arms, hoisting me off my feet and pressing his lips to mine firmly. Feverishly. One hand held me up while the other easily coved my cheek while half clenching my jaw. A soft moan had my eyes fluttering closed, the world around me diminishing at the feel of him. And then too soon he pulled back, kissing the corner of my mouth, before my mind reeled back to reality and he set me on my feet. He took my hand and pulled me out one of the side doors while I fought for air and control over my sparked hormones.
Once outside, with the cold air clearing my head, I analyzed his behavior and what encouraged it. I was irritated and felt taken advantage of, and I voiced my emotion.
“Was that for them or me?” I demanded, sickened, that he used me as a show to mark his territory in front of a bunch of strangers.
He could sense my anger. “That was for me,” he confirmed. “For my sanity.”
“Oh? So it had nothing to do with making it abundantly clear that I was an object owned by you? Giving no other man a hope that I could be charmed by him?”
Reaching the car door, I opened it before he could, then slammed it closed, uncaring of his response.
Seeming stunned by the outburst, his figure stood outside the passenger door longer than necessary prior to sauntering to his side and getting in.
“Melanie?”
“Will you take me home?”
“No,” he snapped. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I finally did.
His eyes were still dark, but the beautiful green was slowly surfacing. “Those men are rogues who have invaded our territory before. Each of them has attempted to hurt a pack member or two on several different occasions and would do anything to see us demolished.”
“Okay? So be frustrated with them, but don’t use me as an even score card, taunting them and stirring more animosity. That’s dangerous and stupid,” I chided.
“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. They were saying some fucked up shit, knowing I could hear it and I just needed-”
“To prove them wrong by stamping me?” I retorted.
“No. To remind myself that no matter what their disgusting mouths say, you are mine and respond to my touch and kiss without delay. That no motherfucker’s words can withstand how perfectly we fit together. You think I give a damn what those assholes believe? Fuck them, but sometimes it’s good to have a reminder that I have you to ease the doubt. It was to keep me from tearing their heads off and burying them where no one would discover the bodies.”
I stared at him, uncertain of what he fully meant while also slightly concerned with his psychological state. Even though I understood that the sentiment behind his words was genuine and compelling, his lustful pursuit of danger was worrisome.
More calmly, I asked, “So you're telling me you got no satisfaction listening to them curse your hands on me?”
A brow raised. “I mean, I don’t want to lie to you…”
I glanced away, smiling at his mischievous tone. “You're a jerk, ya know that?”
“Come here,” he cooed, pulling me closer as the tension eased. “Baby, feel free to use me at all hours of the day if you want. Anytime another woman even glances in my direction, you have permission to push me against a wall and take advantage.”
I rolled my eyes but weighed the option.
During the ride to the restaurant, I checked my phone to read my best friend's text.
BFF: OMG! How is it going?
Grinning, I replied: We went bowling. He’s so sweet and cute. I’m having the best time!
“Am I living up to the hype?” Alex asked, pulling me from my phone.
Lifting my shoulder, I shrugged. “I told her you were a Green Bay Packers fan, and she no longer approves.”
The sound that left his lips was both hilarious and adorable. An actual snort filled the car, his thrilling chuckles ricocheting off the windows and going straight into my heart.
“You didn’t? Woman, that’s grounds for kicking you out of the car right now,” he teased. “Along with leaving Wisconsin came the satisfaction of booting their football team too.”
“Well, don’t tell me you're a Titans fan now,” I grumbled.
“Hey, what's wrong with Teneessee?”
“Nothing if you like losing to the Bengals.”
His mouth gaped, staring at me in disbelief. “That’s just wrong.”
“Or just really, really right,” I corrected, feasting on the lighthearted mood that settled between us.
“I’ll just have to take you to a game so you can grasp the ultimate experience of it all.”
“If you wanna waste your money, go ahead, but I’m warning you, I’ll be wearing my Hubbard jersey no matter what two teams are playing.”
“Spoken like a true die-hard fan.”
My head bobbed in agreement. “You better believe it.”
He stopped at a red light when I mustered up the courage to reach across the console and lace my fingers with his. He didn’t seem to mind the contact by the way he locked onto me, squeezing while the other hand remained on the steering wheel. That simple action turned me on for some weird reason.
One brave step at a time, I told myself, recalling what else he did single-handedly last night.
I blushed at the thought and hid my face by looking out the passenger window.
“What’s that about?” he asked, notifying me of his awareness.
“Is it really that freaking easy for you to read me?” I questioned unthinkingly, not realizing I was admitting something at the same time.
“I mean, at this point it's like I can read your mind,” he teased with an amused grin.
“You're so mean,” I clipped.
“Maybe, but you still haven’t answered the question.”
I rolled my eyes at the window and remained silent.
“Not in a sharing mood?” he pressed, flickering his twined fingers against my knuckles.
That only filled my mind with more obscene images of our night together.
Remaining mute, my mind calculated his sixth sense and how he could differ between my emotions. I wondered what particular aspect of his animal instincts transmitted each thought into emotions?
“What do you think it was?” I countered instead.
“If I know you as well as I’m learning, then it was something that excited you but at the same time made you feel almost intimidated?” he questioned, not completely sure.
“Something like that,” I confessed.
“Tell me so I can help you with it.”
Burning hell!
He released my hand to pull into the parking lot of the busy restaurant. The lack of connection was heavily missed, but I was distracted by his curiosity. It felt like he generally wanted to know the answer so he could make a list of what was satisfying to my soul.
He was a damn good driver too, with the way he twisted the wheel and backed into a spot.
“Why are you so intrusive?” I asked, and this time it wasn't a joke.
He paused to look at me. “I didn’t think I was. I want you to be honest with me. Come out and say what you want and don’t want.”
That was Alex, though. Whether I appreciated it at times more than others, I couldn't alter who he was.
“I want to know you like the back of my hand,” he added in a voice that stirred my imagination.
Bug-eyed and staring at him, he started to lean toward me.
“Is something wrong?” He smirked, like he knew exactly how his tricks affected me.
No, nothing was wrong, unless daydreaming about his hands traveling over my body was unreasonable? Or thinking about his fingers moving with delightful skill, bringing me to the perfect climax?
Oh burning hell! Fuck!
You're a beast,” I whispered right before his lips rested atop mine for a soft peck, then pulled back. He remained inches from my face, his eyes flickering over every line, lingering on my mouth and eyes. It was so intimate that I was half tempted to turn away.
“Tell me what excites you, Melanie, and I might reward you with it.”
Blinking at his bluntness, my eyes unconsciously drifted to his hand but quickly snapped back to his gaze. My head shook in reply to the sensual request.
“Your words, Melie,” he insisted in a persuading tone. He kissed one side of my cheek, working his way across my face before resting at my ear and whispering, “Please.”
I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Your hands.” I could have disappeared if it were possible.
One of his hands started at my knee, then slid slowly up my thigh, curving around my hip before tightening his grip there.
“What about my hands?”
Just say it, Melie, and get it over with. He wasn’t going to stop harassing me until I did.
Looking directly into his eyes, I spoke. “I was thinking about last night when you…” I trailed off.
“Mmm…Yeah, I liked that a lot too,” he replied, kissing my jaw, causing me to shudder.
“I think you knew exactly what I was thinking,” I accused him.
He chuckled, pulling back. “But I still like hearing the words. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked.
“No?”
“No,” he confirmed. “I want you to be comfortable with me and to voice everything you think out loud. How sexy would it have been if you just said it to me instead of me having to bribe it out of you?”
I thought about that for a second, recalling how his tender touches and kisses to persuade me were enough to turn me on. Curiously, I then wondered how his reaction would have differed if I had simply said it out loud without the need for convincing.
Then I dared to test the theory. “Alex, I want your hands on me all the time.”
There was something of a rumbling in his chest that came out as a growl while both hands gripped me tight and squeezed, pulling me as close to him as possible under the circumstances.
“You make me crazy. I just want to…” He didn’t finish that sentence, and I wondered what his ending thought was.
He was already on the verge of setting me on fire in the front seat of his car. Again. So what he was thinking was just another thing that increased the ache I felt simply due to his presence.
It was probably unnatural for me to feel that way so soon about a man, considering that before him, my experience was limited to a make-out session. It didn’t feel wrong, but I could sense my longing for him colliding with desire and something more. It felt inevitable at this point.
“Let’s go eat before I do something you’ll hate me for later,” he remarked.
“I doubt that.”
As he exited the car, I could have sworn I heard him murmur under his breath, “One can only hope.”