Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Cleopatra

Is this really his basement? Four long, shiny, wooden alleyways have ten pins arranged in a triangular pattern at the end of each. Each alley has its comfy seating, featuring a cushioned bench shaped in a semicircle. There is also a computer for scorekeeping and a big, bright screen above.

“You have a bowling alley?” I cry. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah.” He looks around with pride. “And I didn’t tell the parents about this place in case we needed space from the lovebirds.”

The back of the basement is under construction, but it looks like there’s a shoe exchange place, a lounge area, and a shiny new popcorn machine on the plastic-covered countertop. Future snack bar? The far side wall is bare other than one black door, but stripes run horizontally down the cream-colored wall in red and orange .

“I know it’s silly, but it’s the first thing I did when I got the house. All this money for the first time in my life. I had to do something to convince myself I was worthy of it.”

I get it. “Going from subsidized housing to your own mansion, I’m sure there’s a bit of impostor syndrome at play.”

“Pun.”

I stand back in shock, taking him in. Could Blaze be more like me than I think? Then he drags his hand through his dark waves, leaving his hair sexily disheveled, and I laugh at my silliness. He’s way too hot to be a nerd. I ask, “Why a bowling alley?”

He gives my question a thought, answering first with a shrug. “The rich kids who lived in the real houses next to us spent their Saturdays hanging out at the bowling alley.” Reflecting on a whole semester of psychology class in just a few words, he shares, “Couldn’t go bowling growing up. Didn’t feel worthy. Made it in the world and immediately built my bowling alley. Bada Boom Bada Bing, proving to myself I’m worthy of swimming with the big sharks.”

“Did it work?”

“Kinda.” He laughs.

“The rich kids at my school went to the Jersey Shore, and the few super wealthy went on cruises. I always wondered what that was like: a floating house you take with you. Sleep in the same place every night, eat at a familiar restaurant at the end of your day.”

“You’d like a cruise?” He ponders a moment. “That does sound like you. A homebody's dream way to travel the world.”

“Exactly!” I laugh. “Now let’s show all those snooty rich kids what’s up and bowl our little hearts out.”

After fitting me with a pair of adorable, brand-new pink bowling shoes and confirming, yes, there will be a snack bar one day, we move to our alley to play. He pops our names into the computer. brO for him, Cutie for me. I don’t mind.

I watch him pose; his face etched with concentration. He’s very focused. Of course, he’ll be bowling a perfect strike.

I’m shocked as I watch him move like a gangly baby giraffe, all limbs and regret, as he releases the ball from his finger too high. The heavy ball sails through the air, landing on the alleyway with a bump and a bounce before rolling into the gutter. I hold my ball close to my chest, giggling uncontrollably.

He stands there, hands on his hips, mystified by his terrible shot. “What the hell happened?”

I double over my ball, collapsing into a fit of giggles. “You’re supposed to hit the pins!”

“Am I?” he jokes.

“Yes. They like it when you knock them over.”

“I told you I didn’t get to play as a kid. Never developed the skills.” He stares at the ten perfectly standing pins, confused.

“Want me to put the bumpers up for you?” I laugh .

He grins. “Ha. Ha.”

“Our class took a field trip to an arcade once. They had this stand for the little kids where you could roll the ball down. All you had to do was aim.” I sit up, glancing around the room. “Do you have one of those? I can go get it for you.”

“Let me give it another go.” There’s a soft whir, and his ball magically travels up the metal lane, returning to our alley. He comes over, retrieving his ball from the ball thingy. He rolls another gutter ball and then sits down, ignoring my giggles. “Your turn.”

I sashay over to the alley, cradling my pink ball. “I just didn’t think Blaze Bachman could be bad at something.”

“Let me get a hold of you when the sun goes down and show you what I’m good at.”

Ignoring his naughty chuckles, I give it a go, watching the blur of pink sail down the center of the aisle, then turn slightly to the right, hitting a lot of pins on my first turn.

He looks impressed. “Good job.”

“Thanks!”

I clean house on my second shot, knocking over the rest of the pins, getting a spare. It feels good to beat him at something.

I lean against the desk with the score computer, waiting for him to take his turn. “Do you want some tips from a pro?”

“Is there a pro here?” He stands, coming to join me, looking past me. “I don’t see one.” His gaze falls back to me. “I just see a little cutie with a luscious ass that’s distracting me in those leggings. ”

I turn to face him directly, putting my supposedly luscious bottom out of his view, demanding, “What’s your excuse, now?”

He brings the ball up to his chest. “Spread your legs for me.”

I stand before the alley, sliding my slippery shoes to part. He approaches, rolling the ball right through my legs. I glance over my shoulder, watching all the pins fall with a satisfying crash.

“Strike!” He grabs me in his arms. “What do I win?”

I squirm from his hold, my heart racing from the unexpected physical contact and the rush to strike. "You win the satisfaction of not embarrassing yourself," I quip, trying to keep my voice steady despite how his proximity makes my heart race.

He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest that reverberates through me. "Fair enough," he concedes, releasing me but not stepping back. Instead, he leans against the ball return with casual confidence and easy charm.

I take a deep breath, ignoring how my pulse thrums erratically. When it's my turn, I hit a few pins each time, not playing nearly as well as I did at first.

“Your turn, Bro.” I smile.

He picks up his ball, his piercing eyes never leaving mine as he walks up the lane. He sends the ball sailing smoothly down the wooden surface with a practiced wrist flick. It hits the pins with a satisfying crash, scattering them in all directions.

The last remaining pins wobble uncertainly before falling, leaving only one standing. He turns back to me with a smug grin, his confidence unwavering.

"Looks like I win this round, too.” He saunters over to me.

I raise an eyebrow, not one to back down easily. "Don't get too cocky, now," I retort, trying to keep up my playful facade.

He closes the distance between us in an instant. His hand gently cups my cheek, and without warning, his lips find mine in a deep kiss. For a moment, time stands still as we lose ourselves in one another. The world around us fades away, and the rapid beating of my heart thrums in my ears.

When we finally pull away, his eyes are dark with desire, mirroring my emotions.

“Looks like I win again,” he murmurs, his voice husky with unspoken promises.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I wrap my arms around his neck. I’ve wondered something since we stepped foot in this magnificent house yesterday, and I want to know the answer. “When we first arrived and you were giving me a tour, you mentioned you hadn’t shown it to anyone.” I gaze up at him. “What were you waiting for?”

“I was waiting for you. I wanted you to see it first.” He closes in, his lips against mine, making me crave more of his kiss. “But you already knew the answer, didn’t you?”

His words send a powerful sensation through me, one I can’t name, something that hides somewhere between longing and belonging .

“I had my suspicions,” I whisper. “But I wasn’t sure it was true.”

He gives me earnest eyes. “Have you ever known me to lie?”

“No, you don’t lie,” I agree. Things are getting heavy; the heat between our entwined bodies is rising. I lighten the mood. “Sometimes you wiggle a bit.”

“Wiggle a bit?” he laughs. “What does that mean?”

“When girls come up to you, and you’re trying to be polite but aren’t interested.” I wiggle my butt. “You kinda wiggle out of the situation.”

“I’d like to see you wiggle this adorable ass of yours some more.” He reaches over, smoothing a hand over my silky ass, then gives it a hearty smack. He glances over a door on the far side of the room. “There’s another room in this basement.”

“What kind of room?” I ask.

“Wanna see?”

My heart thumps in my chest. Of course he has a secret sex lair in his basement. Do I want to see? My hand is in his, and he leads me across the polished floors. I can hear my pulse as we approach that door.

He pauses just outside, his hand resting on the doorknob. He looks back at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Ready?" he asks, his voice low and inviting. I nod, my breath catching in my throat as he turns the knob and pushes open the door .

The room is dimly lit, with the soft glow of recessed lighting casting long shadows across the plush carpeting. It's larger than I expected, featuring a high ceiling and walls lined with dark, velvety wallpaper.

“So, this is your real lair,” I say. “It has to be. It’s behind a black door.”

“You’re right.” He gazes over it with pride. “If I had a room I called a lair, this room would be the one.”

A large bed sits in the center of the room—the kind of bed that modern-day royalty would have, extravagant and indulgent. A dark green velvet chaise lounge occupies one corner, its curves elegant and inviting, alongside a black leather padded bench in another. Hanging from the walls are various pieces of equipment whose purposes I can only guess at.

My gaze is drawn to the elaborate ceiling. Hammered silver tin shingles adorn the area, reflecting the light from the recessed can lighting warmly.

And what is hanging from that ceiling?

An elaborate black leather harness is suspended from wooden beams.

I hesitate on the threshold, a mix of curiosity and nervousness warring within me. I can’t believe this is real, that he’s showing me this place, that he even has a place like this. The air feels charged with possibilities, and my mind spins with nerves and excitement.

Can I do this?

He steps inside, pulling me gently behind him.

The door clicks...