Chapter 4

The air in the retro bowling alley still hummed with the low, electric buzz of dying fluorescent tubes, a neon-pink afterglow that clung to the polished wood lanes like sweat. It was late, that specific, heavy hour when the world outside ceases to matter and the only reality is the space you occupy. Most of the guests had drifted away, their laughter fading into the distant city traffic, leaving the venue to us. The private nook we had claimed was tucked behind a row of vintage arcade machines, their glass cases dark now, reflecting our silhouettes against the muted red carpet. A small, cluttered bar sat in the corner, a mini-fridge humming softly beside a stack of half-empty beer bottles and a tray of untouched nachos. I stood near the edge of the lane, my bowling shoe squeaking faintly against the waxed floor as I shifted my weight. My dress, a slip of emerald silk that had danced around my hips all evening, had ridden up slightly, exposing the sheer black stockings I wore. The fabric felt cool against my skin, but my body burned. I watched him from the corner of my eye, watching the way his suit jacket