Page 62 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Rhett

“Tell me again why we’re bowling,” I grumped, arms crossed as I stared at him.

Elliot glanced up from tying his shoes to scrutinize me.

I’d ditched band practice to hang out with him after getting his call.

While I’d probably never say it out loud, I liked hanging out with Elliot.

He didn’t need a damn thing from me other than someone to vent to, and he only did it if I was comfortable.

That option was a two-way street. I liked having that.

Fuck, how long had it been since I’d had a real friend like this? Longer than I wanted to admit. I’d become very good at keeping people at a distance. The guys from the band were great, but I wasn’t particularly close with any of them. It just seemed easier that way.

“I thought this was a better alternative to drinking and asking you to call me sexy names,” he said.

“I think I’d prefer that,” I replied. “At least there was alcohol involved.”

“There’s alcohol here.” Elliot nodded to the crappy little bar in the back corner. It was sketchy as fuck, especially for the inside of a shady bowling alley.

“Who thought mixing alcohol with heavy balls was a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea. It usually leads to lighter balls,” he quipped, making me chuckle. Standing, he clapped me on the shoulder. His tone was dead serious as he continued, “Everyone loves lighter balls, Rhett. It’s the best fucking thing for a man.”

“ Who lets you out of the house in the morning?” I demanded. He glared at me, I glared at him, we stayed like that until I finally broke away. “All right, I’m getting us beers, you find us balls—bowling balls! Find us some bowling balls.”

“How heavy do you like your balls?” he asked, and I snorted. God, we were off to a great fucking start. Alcohol was only going to add to his golden retriever chaos—a term I fucking learned from him.

“If I’m fucking drinking, don’t make me lift heavy shit,” I told him. “I have boundaries, fucker.”

That made him laugh, and I left him to go buy cheap bowling alley beer. I bought four cups for good measure. I could go back for more. We’d probably need more.

“Strike!” Elliot shouted as I returned, throwing his hands up. But I laughed when the ball missed everything and ended up in the fucking gutter.

“It’s only counts if you hit the fucking pins,” I reminded him.

“Fuck that shit,” he retorted and grabbed a beer. I watched as he downed half of it. Oh, it was that kind of night. “I’m counting it because I can. Drink! We’ve got bowling to do.”

“Bossy little thing,” I replied but downed half the beer because why the fuck not? I was two blocks from my garage. I didn’t need to drive. As I picked the lightest ball possible, I asked, “You going to tell me why we’re moping, cupcake?”

“Nope, not until we’ve bowled a bit.”

I attempted some version of bowling and was promptly reminded of why I never did. The ball rolled straight into the gutter.

“Oh, this’ll be fun.” Elliot grinned.

As it turned out, we both sucked at bowling. Bad. Beer went down easy though—maybe a little too fucking easy. We finished one game with me knocking over a single fucking pin. I was fucking proud of that one point.

“I think we need bumpers,” I muttered. We stared down the lane, shoulder to shoulder, as we assessed the situation before game two. Beer on an empty stomach was a bad idea—probably worse.

“We definitely need bumpers,” Elliot agreed as he chewed on his straw thoughtfully. His second glass was empty, but so was mine. We needed more. “Think they’ll give us bumpers?”

“ Aren’t you like a city hero?” I asked. “Firefighter and all that? Can’t you just flash a badge or something—get them to do whatever you fucking want?”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Make it work like that. Oh! Tell them you’re gay.”

“And what? I’m a gay man who needs bumpers?”

“You’re a gay man who can’t get it in straight!”

“Nothing about me is straight!”

“Exactly! It’s why we need bumpers!” Why were we shouting at each other? Who the fuck knew? Or cared? At least I was having a damn good time.

“Fine!” He sighed dramatically and whirled on his heel. “The gay firefighter is getting you bumpers, baby!”

“Buy food!” I yelled after him. “The least you can do is feed me!”

Beer, burgers, and bowling. There were fries too, inappropriate jokes, and more laughing than I’d done in years. Bumpers didn’t make us any better, but they did make it a fuck ton funnier.

“All right, pole master,” I began as I shoved a fry in my mouth. “We’re on game four, and you haven’t said shit about what’s wrong. Talk.”

“Is California a nice place to live?” Elliot asked instead.

“It’s expensive as fuck. Why?”

“I told him I’m moving. I wasn’t planning to move. I just kind of fucking said it,” he replied. This fucking idiot. “It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?”

“No,” I scoffed. “Friends don’t leave friends to bowl drunk alone.”

“They have bowling in California. Maybe. If they didn’t outlaw it.”

“But do you want to move? That’s a big move,” I pointed out.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Elliot lamented. “I love him so much it fucking hurts, and watching him with another guy? That’s just fucking torture.”

“I get that.” I nodded slowly. Taking time to think, I clicked my barbell to my teeth and stared down our lane. “Don’t think running away will solve that fucking problem. Absence may make the heart grow fonder or some shit like that, but it also makes everything hurt more.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t see him every day, maybe I can finally convince myself to let him go,” he told me. He traced the lip of his glass as he glared hard a t it. “I don’t fucking know. I’m just tired of feeling like this. I need to move the fuck on. How’d you do it? With you dating again?”

“To be fair, I haven’t asked her on an actual date,” I admitted.

“All right, hold on,” Elliot interjected. His entire demeanor changed with that little piece of information, like a kid with something to hyperfocus on. Damn it. I’d regret this. “Are you telling me that you haven’t taken her on a date?”

“Technically? No.” We’d had a lot of sex though. No shame there. And gone shopping— never again. Why I hadn’t asked her on a real date was beyond me.

“Give me your fucking phone.” He held out his hand.

“I can ask a woman on a date all by myself, thank you very much,” I snapped.

“Clearly not,” he scoffed. “Get your phone out. We’re doing this now.”

“Jesus fuck,” I muttered, but I still did as he asked. Elliot slung an arm around my shoulders, watching my every move.

“You call her spark plug?” he asked as he read Eva’s name in my phone. Sue me, I couldn’t resist.

“It’s better than hose-meister,” I told him, making him laugh. Fuck it. I was doing this. I typed out the message and sent it before I thought better of it.

Let me take you on a real date.

“That’s not even asking,” Elliot pointed out. “That’s just being bossy.”

“She likes me to be bossy.” And I adored that about her.

SPARK PLUG : As opposed to me stalking you around town? *insert dramatic sigh* I thought it was hot that I stalk you. It’s the foundation of our relationship.

“Oh, so she’s a walking red flag,” Elliot commented with that stupidly wide grin of his. I was never going to live this shit down. “Who knew you liked them crazy?”

“ She’s not crazy,” I shot back. “She’s just passionate and a little aggressive. I like that about her.”

It is hot, spark plug. But where’s the romance?

SPARK PLUG : You haven’t even sent me a dick pic yet.

Is that what it’ll take for me to get you to go out with me? I’ll go take one right now, spark plug. Don’t tempt me. I know my good angles.

“How many dick pics do you have to send before you figure out your good angles?” Elliot slid down in his seat, laughing his ass off.

“To be fair, I was a nude model at an art college for a while.” Why the fuck was I telling him this shit?

“Let me draw you like one of my French boys, Rhett,” he mocked. I wanted to be mad, but I was laughing too hard for that.

SPARK PLUG : I’d have to rate it.

I’m not sure I want to know.

And especially in front of Elliot.

“Please, let her rate it,” he whispered all too eagerly. “I like this woman already.”

So did I.

SPARK PLUG : 10/10 would recommend taking this hot rod for a ride. Smooth and sexy with curves in all the right places. It’ll have you going places you never thought possible.

“ Oh, good God!” Elliot exclaimed as I just stared at the response. Fuck, she never ceased to surprise me. He tipped back in his chair, laughing so hard that he didn’t make a sound. I’d never live this down. “Oh, hot rod. You have your hands full with this one.”

“You’re not calling me that,” I warned.

“Hot rod.”

“Cupcake.”

I think I’m speechless.

SPARK PLUG : To answer your question, I’d love to go on a real date with you, Rhett.

“See!” He smacked my thigh. “You’ve got a date, I’m moving to God knows where, we’ve got this.”

“Those are not the same thing,” I said. He just shrugged, and I shoved him off the chair. “Go get us more beer. We’re playing another round while I convince you of how stupid your plan is.”