Chapter 3

The air in the retro bowling alley still tasted like stale beer and floor wax, but to me, it smelled overwhelmingly of him. It had been only a few hours since we’d left the gala, yet my skin still prickled with the memory of his gaze, heavy and possessive, dragging over my body like a physical touch. I had tried to shake it off, tried to retreat into the safe, predictable confines of my own thoughts, but the memory of his hands—large, warm, and impossibly sure—lingered on my collarbone, on the dip of my waist, right where his thumb had pressed just hard enough to leave a bruise in my mind’s eye. Now, I was back here. Alone, mostly. The event had technically dispersed, the crowd thinning out to the stragglers who couldn’t decide if they wanted to leave or stay for one more drink. The neon lights buzzed overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the polished wooden lanes. Green and pink and electric blue flickered in a rhythmic, hypnotic pulse, reflecting off the glass of the arcade games that lined the back wall. The low hum of the pins crashing and the squeak of rubber soles on wood created