Scrooge

13. Alexander

13

ALEXANDER

“T his is ridiculous,” I grumble, looking down at my feet now encased in bright red and blue shoes. “I look like a fucking clown.” My words have bite but not toward her or even the shoes. I am still angry about the media situation today. I wasn’t expecting such a barrage. Haylee’s face is plastered almost everywhere you could imagine. Laurent had been fielding calls for hours, and when Dan called me to tell me he drove past the toy store and saw the commotion, I almost blew a fuse. I had no idea it would cause this much chaos to date so openly, and Laurent should have been across the security issue, but it took us both by surprise.

“I can get you a red nose and a wig to match, if you’d like?” Haylee teases from where she is standing, running her fingers across the air vent at the ball return like a pro. My eyes travel over her frame. She, too, wears these silly shoes, but she looks amazing despite them. I’m coming to realize she looks good in anything.

“If I get some type of foot fungus, I will sue you.” I release a groan as I stand, my shoes somewhat covered by my suit pants. I came straight from work, my business attire something I permanently live in anyway. Meanwhile, Haylee is wearing blue jeans and white t-shirt, which follows her curves in a way it should be illegal. I have looked at her ass more times than I care to admit. Her hair is up in a ponytail, swishing around and capturing the light. I rub my eyes. I can’t be looking at her like this. I sure as shit shouldn’t be noticing how glossy and beautiful her fucking hair is.

“You are meant to be loving me, not suing me,” she says, grinning. She loves seeing me uncomfortable, and while bowling in stupid shoes is not my idea of fun, the smile she gives me makes it worth it. I start to feel that now familiar twist in my stomach, the one that makes me feel equal parts nauseous and excited. The same stomach twist I get whenever I am with her, the one I haven’t ever felt before.

“Let’s get this over with,” I murmur, walking toward her, feeling like a fish out of water. I should be reviewing contracts, adjusting budgets, or strategizing on the Asia expansion, not spending time at a bowling alley.

“Have you bowled before?” she asks as she lifts a ball and cocks a hip, and my fingers itch to grab her. I refrain.

“Do you think I am totally inept?” I ask, although I don’t blame her for thinking that. I haven’t bowled since my early days of college, and even then, it was few and far between.

“Not at all. It’s just, you don’t look like a man who wears blue and red shoes very often.” Her eyes trail up and down my body, and I stand taller, liking her eyes on me.

“I should buy this fucking place just to knock it down.” I probably sound like an arrogant asshole, but that is exactly what I am. Yet as I look around, I see this place is packed. Families everywhere. Parents smiling, kids laughing. A few professional teams throw balls at one end, the speed of which they are traveling almost frightening. I also see my security team outside, managing a small media crowd that has formed. They are starting to earn their paychecks this week, that’s for sure.

“Is that all you do? Buy places with heart and soul, and then demolish them, leaving them lifeless?”

Although our banter is light, her words sting. Probably because they are true, and while I don’t usually care what people think, she is different.

“I recreate spaces. It’s called progress,” I say firmly as she lines up to take her shot. I’m quiet as I watch her. My eyes drift back to her ass as she takes a few steps and fires the ball directly down the center, clearing all the pins and getting a strike on her first roll.

She turns around and smirks, looking real proud of herself. Clearly, she is a bit of a pro.

“You’re up,” she says as she sashays to her seat with a shit-eating grin I suddenly want to kiss off her face.

As someone who hates to lose, I decide that it is now game on. I slip my jacket from my frame and lay it across the back of the seats. Rolling my shirt up at the sleeves, I shake my arms.

“Ohhh, he does a warm-up,” she teases me again, and I scowl at her, but I appreciate her eyes on me. Women look at me anywhere I go, and I usually pay them little attention, but I have already spent more quality time with Haylee than anyone else in a long time.

“You didn't tell me you were a pro.” I walk to the ball return to select my weapon for the night.

“I may have dated the captain of the bowling team in high school…” she says in a girly flirting tone as she twirls her hair, playing around.

“Really?” I ask, picking up a heavy ball and getting my grip right. I haven’t asked her about her dating history. It wasn’t something I really needed to know.

“No. My dad used to take us bowling every Sunday growing up,” she admits, and I watch her joking sass turn into a genuine smile. She sounds like she had such a wholesome upbringing. Her family is still very close. Something I have absolutely no grasp on or experience with at all.

“Your dad sounds like he’s been a great father,” I say, thinking briefly about my own father before I shake the thoughts away. One of his mantras in life was that no one ever got anywhere slacking off , and I know he would definitely consider bowling slacking off.

“Show us what you’ve got, Alex,” she challenges me, still smiling, and I shouldn’t feel as tense as I do, but I take a breath, roll my shoulders, and step forward, throwing the ball down the lane. The speed is good, the angle not so much, and my ball rolls to the side, falls into the gutter, and slips past the pins, not even hitting one.

“Nice one!” she says, giddy and smiling as she stands.

“It was terrible.” I look at her like she is crazy. Is she blind? It isn’t often I fail at something, yet here we are, and I hate it.

“No, it was great. I mean, sure, you had a gutter ball, but you are here with me, wearing stupid shoes, eating cold mozzarella sticks, and bowling even though you kind of suck at it.” Her sass has me nearly rolling my eyes, but as she bites her lip, I only want to watch that instead. “I deem this date a success. People for sure will see us now as genuine. Because, admit it, someone like you wouldn’t be here with someone like me if it wasn’t true love,” she says as she steps up to me, almost toe-to-toe with a proud smile on her face. I look down at her, her eyes glistening, her face relaxed and happy, yet the words she says don't sit right with me.

“Well, it may be out of my ordinary…” I murmur, seeing a small flyaway hair caught in her lip gloss. I lift my hand, my fingers gazing across her cheek, lifting the hair away, before I trace them across the softness of her skin, down her jaw. I take in a deep breath as I watch her closely, and the light scent of a summer breeze filters through my nose from her perfume. I could groan at how delicious she smells. My eyes drop to her neck, the sudden urge I have to kiss her skin almost overwhelming me. Her eyes widen, most likely reading my thoughts, and I see her swallow and I follow the movement before I drop my hand and roll my shoulders back, pulling myself together.

“You’re sounding grumpy. Here, have a mozzarella stick.” She grabs one from the basket nearby and lifts it to my lips.

“Are you trying to kill me with your heart attack food?” I tease, my hand gliding around her waist and keeping her close. Enjoying her friendly, easygoing nature.

“I have learned over the years that when someone gets a little grouchy, it is usually because they are hungry.” Smiling, her glossy lips reflect under the bad overhead lighting.

“I prefer not to fill my arteries with so much cholesterol,” I quip, although I am feeling a bit hungry.

“Go on, Alex, try it. Just for me?” she whispers in a way that has me wavering.

“Here, I will try it first, so you know you won’t keel over the minute it touches your lips.” Moving the stick to her mouth, she wraps her lips around it. I bite my tongue so I don’t let out a growl from deep in my chest as I watch her take a bite, the crumbs from the outside of the cheese now specking her lips, caught on her gloss.

She hums in approval, her eyes closing in appreciation, and my fingers twitch on her side, causing her to open her eyes and look straight at me.

“Want some?” she teases again, cocking an eyebrow, and I can’t take it anymore. I grab her wrist with my other hand and guide her hand to my mouth. As I take a bite, the deliciousness hits my tongue immediately.

“Mmmmm,” I agree with her as I chew. She licks her lips, ridding herself of the crumbs before she smiles.

“Here,” she says, lifting on her tiptoes and grazing her thumb along my bottom lip. My hold on her waist tightens, pulling her body against mine. With her chest pressing against my own, a gasp escapes her mouth. “You have a few crumbs…” she starts to say, but I cut her off.

“As do you…” I murmur as I lean closer, my lips brushing against hers softly without hesitation. Her body relaxes, humming again in a way that makes me want to kiss her for real, before the lane next to us apparently gets a strike. Bells and lights go off in celebration, making us step back from one another quickly.

“Are the media looking?” she asks, her voice quiet, and I clench my jaw. I have no fucking idea who is looking, and that is a problem. I shouldn’t be touching her, not like this. Not like I want to. It is a contract. A signed document of legal tender. That is what I need to be focused on. What the hell is wrong with me? A few pictures together, holding hands, and that is it. Not dreaming of what kissing her neck would be like, how she might melt even further when touching her in different places. Looking back to the front windows, I clear my throat.

“Yes,” I say, although I can’t see a thing. Night has fallen outside, and my team is doing a great job of keeping the photogs at a distance.

“Oh… well, good move.” Blinking her eyes rapidly, she takes a small step away from me to put the remainder of the cheese stick back in the basket and grab her ball. I take the time to pull myself together.

“You're up,” I tell her, taking a seat to watch her again. As I do, I lean forward on my knees and wring my hands, the confusion and tension I am currently feeling starting to boil together, making me feel sick. I look over at the mozzarella sticks. They are delicious, but they could also be contributing to my sudden nausea, considering I don’t eat fried food. Yet another thing in my life that I’m totally disregarding in my current situation.

She stands still for a moment, and I try to figure out what the hell is happening to me. She is right. I wouldn’t normally be here, in this situation, with a woman like her. I shouldn’t be paying for increased security to keep her and her family safe; they aren’t my problem. Yet I did.

I watch her take her shot again, sighing when she gets another strike.

This is going to be a very short game.