If I were a cartoon character like the ones I would watch on television growing up, I’m certain that my tongue would be hanging loosely from my mouth with my eyes bugged out from their sockets. Larsen is clad in a simple pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt baring the skin of one of her shoulders. Nothing too extravagant or attention-seeking, not like the women I’ve dated or bedded in the past. Her wet hair is braided and draped over her shoulder, masking the scar that runs down her jaw. Scars that I don’t even notice any longer, though I’m curious of their origin. She’s even put on a little makeup from what I can tell. Her brown eyes are lined with brown smudges.
Damn, she’s beautiful, and if she were anyone else, I’d be dragging her back inside her apartment and having my way with her.
But she deserves more, she deserves better.
Shaking my head, I step closer to her and offer her my hand. She seems surprised at the gesture knowing that her scarred limb will be within my grasp. I wait patiently for her to accept my invitation and as she slowly slips her hand in mine the feeling of rightness swirls within the confines of the stairwell landing.
“Sorry, I was eager. Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, her stare never leaving our clasped hands. I wonder what she’s riveted by. The difference in size? The variation in the color, her ivory pallor to my tanned one? Or is it that instead of pulling away I’m gripping her tighter?
“You know, I’ve never bowled before.”
At my confession, her head pops up like one of those carnival games where you whack the creature with a soft mallet.
“Never?”
“Nope. My parents never made time for me to be a kid.”
“Well, this is going to be fun,” she says with far more excitement than I would have if I was going to have to teach someone how to bowl. “Let’s go!”
But, hell, if all it takes to put that look of excitement in Larsen’s eyes is telling her things I missed out on as a kid, then I might just tell her that I never learned how to ride a bike.
Damn, I’d tell her just about anything if it makes her look at me the way she just did.
“Come on, slowpoke,” she adds on as she drags me down the stairs and out the apartment’s exit.
“This is going to be torture, isn’t it?” I jokingly ask her.
Tugging on my hand once more she urges me to keep up pace. For such a petite woman she sure does have one hell of a stride.
“You betcha,” she giggles.
And that’s when I realize she’s open and carefree, not hiding into herself. That butterfly I knew was cocooned beneath the surface is about to spread her wings and I’m going to be the one to show her how.
CHAPTER SIX – LARSEN
I try not to focus on the fact that Devyn is casually holding my hand as we stroll down the pathway from the apartment building toward the bowling alley. He didn’t even shudder as he clasped my palm or as his thumb gently rubs back and forth against my knuckles. I almost forget about the ridges and indentations protruding out of my skin.
We don’t speak much as we stroll along, making small talk until we approach the bowling alley. Devyn holds the door wide for me, allowing me to pass over the threshold. I catch a whiff of his cologne and I can’t control the need to close my eyes and savor its masculine scent.
My eyes pop open when I feel his hand slip onto the small of my back. “Come on, we’re over on lane two.”
“What?” I whisper in shock, craning my head to look at him. He offers me a proud grin and I can’t help but think that he should smile more. He looks much younger, less serious. Like the world isn’t weighing on his shoulders.
“I called and reserved a lane for us ahead of time. They should have our shoes set aside too.”
“How did you know my size?”
He shrugs his shoulder as we pass a few lanes filled with the bowling leagues that will be practicing tonight. “I just mentioned your name and he said he’d take care of it.”
“Oh.” Yeah, I come here a lot. There isn’t much else to do in this town, especially when the winter season approaches.
“Here we are.”
I follow him toward the seats positioned in front of the lane and, just as he mentioned, they have everything set up for us. Two balls, one with the weight I prefer, two pairs of shoes, and our names already entered into the system.
“So, how do we do this?” he asks.