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When I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s studying me with those sharp gray eyes. “Still unexpected. Is it the makeup that’s throwing you off?”

I start the engine, focusing on anything except how she smells—something light and clean that’s driving me crazy. Same scent that’s been stuck in my head since that day in the equipment room. “I wasn’t expecting much, I guess.”

“Wow.” She sits back in her seat. “You’re a real charmer.”

“If I tell you you’re pretty, will that help?”

She’s quiet for a beat, then gives me a smile that’s different from before. Softer. “It won’t affect me either way, but no girl’s going to turn down being told she looks nice.”

I pull out of her driveway, hyperaware of everything—her hands folded in her lap, the way she fidgets with her jeans, how she keeps glancing at me when she thinks I’m not looking.

“So,” I say, needing to fill the silence before it kills me, “we’re going bowling.”

“Bowling?” She turns to stare at me. “Seriously?”

“You got a problem with that?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she laughs. “It’s not exactly what I expected after that whole PR meeting, but sure. Let’s do it.”

“You might be surprised. It’s cathartic.”

“Cathartic?” She sounds like I just told her I collect stamps for fun. “How is bowling cathartic?”

I glance at her, then back at the road. “Makes me slow down. I’m always going—training, games, travel. Bowling forces me to focus on something simple.”

She nods slowly. “And you get some kind of deep emotional release when you throw the ball down the lane?”

“Maybe. You’d be surprised how much throwing a heavy ball at pins helps with stress.”

“Okay, now I’m intrigued. Let’s see if you’re a secret bowling prodigy or just full of shit.”

“Could go either way,” I say, winking at her.

The bowling alley is exactly what I need—low-key, no frills, no chance of running into anyone from the team. We grab our shoes, and I hand over payment before she can argue.

“So,” I say, handing her a pair of size sevens, “how much do you suck at bowling?”

She gives me a sideways look. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

“Just asking. You don’t strike me as someone who bowls often.”

“I’ve bowled plenty, and I’m pretty good. Don’t get your hopes up if you want an easy win.”

“Well, now I’m worried. This is supposed to be fun, not a bloodbath.”

“You’re the one who made it sound like a competition.”

I grin, lacing up my shoes. “True. But I’m not here to crush your dreams. I’m here to have fun.”

Famous last words.

We put our names in the system—Liam and Kat—and I step up for my first throw. The ball feels familiar in my hands, solid anddependable. I release it with a decent spin, watching it roll down the lane and knock down five pins.

Not terrible. Not great.

“Not bad,” Katarina says. “You might not be as awful as I thought.”

“You’ll be eating those words soon.”