“And because I’m an astute people manager and I noticed the looks of envy you all gave the bowlers today, I’m now giving you the chance to hit the lanes. Free bowling for all volunteers!”
They acted way more excited about it than I’d imagined. Even Q and Elton went to dig through the boxes of shoes so they could bowl against Mariah and Amy.
Gabriella tracked me down as I restacked the tables that’d already been stacked. She said, “OCD much?”
“Only about some things.”
“Why aren’t you bowling?”
I shrugged. “Not really my thing.” I looked at her. “Why aren’t you bowling?”
“Everyone is partnered up already.” She sighed. “Now I know what it feels like to not be picked for a team.”
“Pretty sure you’re full of shit, Welk.” I tugged on her ponytail and bent to whisper, “You told them that we’d agreed to bowl together so you could get out of it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hate bowling.”
Did she? Or was she trying to get me to challenge her to a game because she was a damn ringer? Gently, I cupped her chin in my hand and titled her head up to meet my gaze.
The woman had a killer poker face. I had no idea if she was bluffing.
Only one way to find out.
“Well, I can’t have you lying to my volunteers. So find some shoes and a ball because we’re going head-to-head on the lanes.”
“I can’t.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because?”
“Because I’m . . .” She dropped her gaze. “Still sore from the hockey game.”
“Maybe you should show me exactly where it hurts.” I lowered my voice. “I’ll kiss and make it better.”
Her gaze snapped up to mine. “Nolan.”
“Your ribs, right?” I slid my hand down and curled it around the left side of her ribcage. “Here?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Lemme see.”
“No. It’s okay.”
“I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t want to lift my shirt. There are people around.”
This, from the woman who stripped down to her skivvies in front of me and Q, and only two days ago was buck-ass naked in an entire locker room of hockey players? If I hadn’t seen that behavior with my own eyes, I absolutely would’ve believed her shyness.
“No worries. I’ll block you from view.” Then I hooked a finger beneath the hem of her T-shirt and started to peel it up.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” I held fast when she tried to jerk away. “Now, hold still. I wouldn’t want you to further injure yourself.”
“Omigod. You don’t believe me.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You are such an ass.” She stepped back and pulled her T-shirt up to the bottom of her sports bra band. “See?”
I bent down to get a better look. “Nothing here,” I said after placing my thumb on her sternum and stroking my fingers across the soft skin on the left side of her torso.
Skin that immediately rippled into gooseflesh.
And I might’ve lost my head for a moment, getting caught up in the cocoa vanilla sugar scent of her skin. But I snapped back to reality when I saw the two big bruises on the right side of her ribcage.
Gabi wasn’t moving at all. I think she might’ve quit breathing. Which quickened my breathing considerably.
Ignoring my need to kiss down that rock-hard belly, I pressed my lips on the bruises . . . and blew a raspberry.
She shrieked. “Stop! That tickles.”
I straightened up. “That’s what I think of your ‘I’m too sore to bowl’ excuse. Nice try, though.”
She yanked her shirt down and harrumphed. “What gave it away?”
“You’d have to be near dying to admit that you hurt too much to compete with me.” I locked my gaze to hers. “So why don’t you want to bowl?”
“Because I was trying to do something nice.”
I frowned at her. “I’m confused.”
Then she poked me in the chest. “I said I didn’t want to bowl with you because I was saving you from embarrassing you in front of your friends, okay?”
“Wait. Are you claiming that you will beat me so badly that I’ll hang my head in shame?”
“Pretty much.”
Was she bluffing?
Christ. I couldn’t tell by her smirk, but no fucking way was I letting this slide.
I loomed over her. “Find a ball, get your shoes on and meet me on lane seven.”
She shrugged and sidestepped me. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
“Wait.” I put my hands on her hips and spun her back to face me. “How about we have a little side wager on this game.”
“Like?”
“Like the winner gets to choose what we do tomorrow on our date.”
“We have a date tomorrow?”
“We agreed after the hockey game that once our favor for a favor was done, we’d continue to explore this thing between us.” My eyes searched hers. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.” I trailed my fingers down her face. “Let’s make it official and go out on a date.”
“Okay.” She gave me the sweet, shy smile that just slayed me. “Can’t wait until I get to tell you what I’ve got planned.” She mock-whispered, “It might involve glitter glue and pipe cleaners.”
“Gotta win first.”
She rolled her eyes. “See you down there, loser.”
By the time we were ready to bowl, everyone else had finished. And they all decided to stick around and watch our game.
I half expected Gabi to stroll down to the lane with a monogrammed bowling bowl and her own shoes, such was her confidence level.
“Ladies first,” I said and sat at the scoring console to watch her do her thing.
First frame she left a ten-pin, but she picked up the spare.
My turn. I held the ball close, pushed out, swung back and smoothly released it down the lane.
Strike.
I kept my face neutral as I turned around.
Sweetly, she said, “Beginner’s luck?”
“I never said I was a beginner.”
“But you said bowling wasn’t your thing.”
“It’s not. Doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”
She groaned. “I’m gonna regret taunting you, aren’t I?”
“Probably.” I tugged on her ponytail. “You’re up.”
We stayed neck and neck until the tenth frame. I left a seven-pin, but I picked up the spare. A strike would win the game. Anything less . . .
The ball left my grip a little wonky and I held my breath until all the pins were down.
I’d only beat her by one pin.
But a win was a win.
Gabi offered me her hand. “Good game.”
I didn’t care that we were in plain sight of our friends. I clasped her hand and pulled her body against mine. “The victor demands a hug.”
She melted into me. With her cheek against my chest, she could hear how fast my heart beat and I could feel her smile when she said, “You really do like me, don’t you?”
“Yes, Gabriella, I really do.” I kissed the top of her head.
“What’s the dress code for our date tomorrow?”
“Casual.”
“Ugh. That tells me nothing because I know we have different definitions for casualwear.”
“When I pick you up, I’ll tell you if you’re not properly attired for our outing. Deal?”
Gabi tipped her head back and looked at me. “You wouldn’t rather meet?”
/> “It’s our first official date, so you deserve the full date treatment.”
“What time are you picking me up?”
“Eleven?”
“That’ll work.”
Just then Mariah and Amy butted in. “You’ve had your turn with her, Lund, now it’s ours and we have plans for the center of our universe.” Mariah’s fingers circled Gabi’s wrist and she forced her to wave. “Bye-bye, this was great fun and I hope we can do it again sometime.”
Gabi mouthed, Help, and I laughed. “Not a chance.”
Twenty
GABI
Sunday morning I cursed Liddy and Dallas for being MIA when I needed their style advice.
I cursed Mariah and Amy for plying me with tequila shooters and sending me to bed without my usual dose of pre-hangover killers.
I cursed the fashion industry for making me question if leggings were pants or if wearing them was a dating faux pas.
I cursed the universe for the exciting hockey game on TV that distracted me right after I’d dabbed Preparation H on my lip to try and reduce the swelling.
Which meant I’d totally forgotten about the goop when I answered the knock on my door.
Nolan said, “What’s on your mouth?” three seconds after I’d let him in.
And I also cursed Jensen Lund for giving his cousin my apartment number so I didn’t have any warning before my date showed up.
“It’s to reduce swelling.”
He leaned closer to scrutinize my messed-up face.
It took everything inside me not to tuck my chin to my chest to hide from his scrutiny.
“What did you put on it? Vaseline?”
“A form of it.”
“Does it still hurt?” he said softly.
“In some places more than others.”
“I’d offer to kiss and make it better, but I see that’s still not an option.”
Deflated, I didn’t move when he retreated and smiled at me.
“You ready?”
That’s when I noticed the whole put-together package that was Nolan Lund.
Mr. “Casual” arrived wearing a gray-and-black pin-striped sport coat over a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck and black jeans.
I might’ve . . . sorta . . . growled at him.
“Uh-oh. That’s an angry Coach Welk noise. What’s wrong?”
“Fancy Pants. In what context is that outfit you’re wearing considered casual?”
He looked down at his clothes and then back at me. “‘Brunch with the Lund Collective’ casual? I just came straight from there.”
“Did you bring other clothes to change into?”
“What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?” When I continued my hard stare, he added, “I’m wearing jeans, a sweater and a coat. Same thing you are.”
My Lucky Brand dungarees and gray fisherman’s pullover sweater were in the same category only insofar as they were cloth that covered body parts. I looked down at my socks that were decorated in flying pigs, because I knew I’d beaten him on the cool socks front, but even they couldn’t bring a smile.
“Gabriella.” Nolan gently trapped my face in his hands and forced me to look at him. “I’ll say this once. How I dress has no bearing on you or on what you wear. None. I don’t expect you to change anything about yourself to accommodate me.”
“But I—”
“No buts. You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known. I like you just the way you are.”
That Billy Joel song started playing in my head, and yeah, maybe it warmed my heart a little.
“You know that I’m a ‘fancy pants’ clothes hound and you’ve accepted that about me, right?”
I nodded again.
“So chances are high that our daily styles won’t be in alignment. I won’t take it as a personal affront that you didn’t dress up for me if you don’t take it as judgment that I have a different idea of casual than you.”
Right then, I fell a bit more for this man.
Okay. A lot more.
We’d misjudged each other based on appearances and here was an explanation—not an excuse—that I could agree with.
“You just destroyed any argument I might’ve had with logic. How dare you.”
He smiled.
“My only request is if we decide on dinner or drinks or whatnot at a place that has a dress code, you give me advance notice.”
“How far in advance?”
“An hour? I should be able to pull something together in that time.”
“Done.” He pressed his lips to my forehead in a lingering kiss. “You ready for our day?”
Wait. We were spending the whole day together? Did that mean the night, too?
Good thing I’d shaved.
“I’m hoping wherever we’re going has food. I’m starved.”
“There’s food.”
“Cool. Then let’s roll.”
Full-date-treatment Nolan held my hand as we walked to his sportscar.
The music in the background during our ride changed from rap to rock to country. I thought it was sweet he’d shared his “favorites” playlist with me. Kind of like giving a girl a mixtape back in the day.
When we pulled into the Topgolf parking lot in Brooklyn Park, I smiled at him. “This is awesome, Nolan.”
“So I get positive marks for our first date activity?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted to come here.” I leaned over the console and mock-whispered, “Just because I haven’t golfed here doesn’t mean I haven’t golfed. See how that full disclosure thing works?”
Nolan turned his head. We were face-to-face. Almost mouth to mouth. His gaze dropped to my lips and then crawled back up to my eyes. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“Tempting me with those ‘please kiss me’ puppy-dog eyes.”
“But don’t you want to kiss me?”
“You really want me to kiss you for the first time in the parking lot of Topgolf?”
“Yes please,” I breathed.
He shifted slightly so his lips grazed my cheek. “Nope.”
I might’ve called him a vile name.
As usual, he chuckled.
Nolan kept hold of my hand as our host took us to the second level. “We’d appreciate a server coming over right away.”
“Not a problem.”
Nolan passed me the menu. “I ate a substantial amount at brunch, so I’m not hungry, but you go ahead and get whatever you want.”
I ordered an appetizer snack platter of fried pickles, mozzarella cheese sticks, fried mushrooms, cheese curds and seasoned fries. He ordered us both a margarita.
I wandered to the edge of the platform to check out the place. Although we were outside, we did have another level above us, so it didn’t feel as if we were out in the elements. Each table had a pair of gas heaters and there were signs around that more heat could be provided if the guest requested it. I must’ve been navel-gazing for a while because when I returned to the table, the food and drinks were there.
Sliding into my seat, I said, “Do you come here very often?”
“Maybe twice a year. Have you ever been to one of these?”
“A couple down South but I didn’t think they’d be open up here in the winter.”
“It is. And winter is almost over.”
I shook my finger at him. “No. I am not getting sucked into a discussion about the weather on our date, because that’s a sign things are going bad.”
“Agreed. So what shall we discuss?”
“I wanna know why they call you ‘the Prince’ at LI.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”
“Around.” I dipped a fry in ranch dressing and it stung the shit out of my lip when I popped it in my mouth. I’d overdone it since my inju
ry with all the talking, using my whistle during games, drinking and eating. Inactivity was the only way to heal faster. I looked at all the crunchy fried food I’d ordered and realized I probably couldn’t eat any of it. Awesome. Maybe Nolan wouldn’t notice.
“The optimistic me would like to think the employees consider my dad the king, so I’d be the prince.”
“Dare I ask what pessimistic Nolan thinks?”
“That I’m lucky not to be nicknamed the joker.”
“Ooh. Harsh.” I picked up a mozz stick. The breading scraped against my lip. I set it down and shoved three cheese curds in my mouth whole because I was starved.
“Annika is known as the ‘Iron Princess’ for being straightforward.”
A swig of my margarita washed down the cheese, and the salt stung my lip. “It sounds like a literal definition. So you’re definitely ‘the Prince’ for being the most charming of them all.”
He smiled. “Total optimism, Pollyanna.”
I ate a mushroom whole and that seemed to go okay so I ate two more.
“We’ve never talked about your Welk family name. Jax mentioned your relation to the famous Lawrence Welk, but he didn’t specify how.”
“His youngest brother, Mike, was my great-grandfather. I never knew him. My grandpa was actually an ‘out-of-wedlock’ baby, raised alone by his mother, who was a Lutheran woman, which was a cardinal sin in a German Roman Catholic family like the Welks. They were basically ostracized, so she relocated them to Grand Forks, but funnily enough, she gave him the Welk name.”
“How many new people you meet ask about that family connection?”
“In the Midwest? Everyone.” I attempted another fry.
“Does it bother you?”
I looked at him. “No. Unless people are being mean and say an-a-wunna-an-a-tuua because they think he’s a joke. Uncle Larry—that’s what I’ve always called him in my head, BT-dubs—was a wunnerful, wunnerful man who never forgot his roots. He brought joy to a lot of people. It’s a legacy to be proud of.”
He studied me. “You’re not being facetious.”
“Not a bit.” I found a small fried pickle and chewed it slowly to see if it’d sting. It did.
“I wish I could kiss you right now.”
And . . . the pickle got stuck in my throat. I sputtered, coughed and managed to choke it down. “Dude. Don’t say things like that when I’m eating.”