“No,” Aileen said at the same time Ernie muttered, “Yes.”

Killian looked as confused as Aileen felt. Having him there was a distraction she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t an awesome bowler to begin with. Adding in his presence, forcing her emotions and hormones to go haywire, and she was screwed.

“I’m just off my game today,” she said in lieu of the truth. “Bad night. Was thinking of calling it early and taking off.”

Al and Cindy looked up from Al’s phone and both protested. Ernie stared her down in mulish silence. Killian raised a brow.

“If you leave, aren’t they down a team member?”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll finish. Just don’t blame me when I bring down the average.” She stormed back to her seat and dropped down in a huff. Yes, she was being childish. Yes, she was being absurd. No, she didn’t care. Anything to keep Killian from noticing her mini freak-out earlier was an improvement, even immature behavior.

Because she knew, just knew, if he found a sore spot, he’d poke at it until he got her to back off and leave him alone. Their time spent burning up the sheets was nothing compared to the freedom he craved from her journalistic questions and probing.

And maybe that was the worst part. Knowing the second he had a free way out, he’d take it without a backward glance. She had no logical reason to be hurt by that. There were no agreements between them, no promises of a future or even referring to whatever they had as a relationship. She’d apparently invented the entire fantasy of him tossing his cares aside and sweeping her up and off her feet with the soft words, “I don’t care if you’re a reporter. We’ll make it work,” whispered in her ear. Yeah. Like that was even possible.

Killian sat down beside her, silent for a moment.

“Whatever is bothering you, you might as well say it.”

He stared to talk, but a server dropped off their order from the snack bar and he clammed up again. Pizza, nachos, and cheese fries all piled onto the one small, round table they’d claimed. Aileen reached over and grabbed a nacho, dripping with cheese and chili sauce. Flicking off the jalapeño into the nearby trash can, she ate the cheesy, chili-covered chip dripping with gusto. Then she glanced at Killian, who was watching her teammates devour the food like vultures on fresh roadkill.

“Do you guys always eat like this?”

“While bowling.” She took another chip, peeled off the jalapeño, and ate. “What? It’s bowling food. Were you expecting salads with crisp greens and a hint of balsamic vinegar dressing?”

He snorted and shook his head, but still looked a bit queasy at the sight of all the junk food. “No, just . . . where the hell do you put it? You’re this big.” He put his thumbs and forefingers together to make a small circle. For some ridiculously feminine reason she refused to analyze, that made her smile.

“Clearly, I burn a lot of calories on my daily jogs.” He grinned at her joke, then reached for a nacho. “It’s got jalapeños, just a warning.”

“Some people like the extra burn.” He bit in with an exaggerated crunch, smiling even as his eyes watered. “These are toxic.”

“Toxically delicious,” she added. Retrieving another nacho, she picked off the jalapeño and held it out to him. “Here, then.”

He shocked her by nipping it out of her fingers, grazing the pads of her thumb and finger as he did. He watched her carefully, and she blinked in surprise.

He opened his mouth, but Ernie—damn him—interrupted.

“We gonna bowl or make cow eyes at each other?” he asked, clearly amused.

She sighed and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “I need to finish this game. Then we can go.”

He glanced around the alley. People were starting to pack up. As their team was one of the worst, it usually took them the longest to finish. “Can anyone join in on those lanes, if they’re free?”

“If they’re free, yeah. It’s closed down from seven to nine for the league, but after that they open back up to the public. Earlier, if some of the league teams take off early. But the place closes at ten.” She stood and went to dry her hand on the vent. “Why? Did you want to bowl?”

“I haven’t been bowling since I was probably six,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I’d embarrass myself.”

Aileen paused. “You’ve never been bowling as an adult?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

She grinned. “Just hang around. I’ve got a plan that will rock your world.”

Chapter Sixteen

Killian wasn’t sure how bowling in an empty alley constituted rocking his world, but it was fun as hell.

Aileen, as it turned out, was friendly with the owner. She’d been coming here since she was a kid, the guy told him while Aileen went to the restroom. Family friend. He had no problem leaving her behind and letting her lock up on her way out.

With goofy-looking shoes on his feet, his jeans rolled up to keep from getting caught in the heel, and a polyester polo shirt with bowling pins stitched on the breast—borrowed from the pro shop, as per Aileen’s instructions—he felt like an idiot. He looked like an idiot. But Aileen had simply grinned and said he was perfect. And that had made his heart jump. Stupid, because it was probably her way of kidding around. Just the reminder though of those deep blue eyes assessing him from top to bottom, nodding once sharply and declaring him to be perfect made his insides clench.

She returned, arms by her sides, weighed down by two bowling balls. She waddled just a little when she walked, which he found cute.

“Here are two different sizes and weights. Try the finger holes and see which one works better.”

He tried as she demonstrated, putting his middle two fingers and thumb through the three holes, leaving his index and pinky fingers on either side. “Too small.” He had to wiggle to get his hand free.

“Then this should be perfect.” Taking the other one away, she rolled the second toward him gently. He tried again, and found the fit comfortable but tight. No slipping, but no sticking, either. As far as he knew, it was probably good.

“How are those holes working out?” She bent over and pulled on his hand, judging how easily his fingers came free. “Looks good. You want it to be tight, but not so tight you can’t release. You don’t want the hole to feel like it’s sucking your finger in.”

At that unintentionally erotic phrasing, he chuckled. Aileen’s neck flushed, but she kept her eyes averted and swatted at his leg. “Stop that.”

“You started it, talking about tight holes.”

Her gaze snapped to his, scowling at him. “Knock it off or I’ll lock you in here.” She pressed a few buttons on the computer and entered their names as the players. The machine on the end sprang to life, lighting up and setting down ten pins. As the rest of the alley was dark, including the front desk area and the snack bar, the glow from their screen and lane lit up an eerily tight space of the hall.

“Bowling for ghosts,” he muttered. She laughed, then picked up her ball. It was a custom one, obviously, as it had her name airbrushed with a pen. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

She glanced at it. “Online. You want one?” She grinned wickedly. “We could get a cute little teddy bear throwing a football or something.”

He smacked her ass hard enough to echo in the empty alley. She just laughed and lined up.

“You start here, with your toes on these arrows.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching. “You’re right handed like me, so you’ll just do exactly what I do. Start with this foot . . .” Trailing off, she took a few steps, a back swing, then let the ball go effortlessly. It rolled down the lane until it knocked over nine pins with a startling clatter. The tenth wobbled, and he held his breath, but it righted itself.