“I’m in,” Jett says without his normal enthusiasm. Javier doesn’t notice.
“Fantastic. Now if you could bring a few of your lovely single friends, that would make it even better. I’ll find a few friends and we’ll all have a great time.” He turns his head as a similarly buff/sweaty guy calls his name and waves to him.
“Gotta go. I’ll see you two later.” Jett gets a slap on the back and I get a wink.
“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Jett says after Javier leaves.
“What, are you afraid of my mad bowling skills?” I am so full of shit, but Jett doesn’t know that.
“Oh, princess I’ve got bowling moves you’ve never seen.” Cocky much?
“Whatever. I’m going to wipe the floor with you, Fake Boyfriend.”
“Whatever you say, Fake Girlfriend.”
It turns out that all of my friends want to come. Who knew bowling was so popular? With the pre-worn shoes and the sticking your fingers in a ball that other people have stuck their disgusting fingers in. It is NOT my idea of fun, but go along to get along, I suppose. Plus, I really want to see if Jett could deliver on all his talk. Apparently, he’s competitive. Yet another thing to add to the list I’ve been compiling, Things I’ve Learned About Jett. It’s odd for such a laidback guy, but I’m thinking it maybe has something to do with Javier. Like they have a secret bet that I don’t know about. Who knows? Boys are a mystery.
I agree to be the Designated Driver so I can use it as an excuse to turn down any and all Jell-O shots. Jett’s in the passenger seat, and I’ve got Hazel, Cass and her boyfriend, Boyd.
Like most other things in a college town, the bowling alley has been taken over by college students. I kind of feel bad for any residents of Hartford who aren’t college students, but they had to know what they were getting into when they moved here.
We have quite a huge group between me, Jett, Hazel, Cass, Boyd, Jordyn, Tanner, Daisy, Javier and the two guys he’d brought, Marty and Skye. The first thing I realize after we got our shoes sorted out and pay for our lanes is that we are LOUD. Not that there aren’t other groups of students blowing off steam, but we take the cake in terms of volume. By far.
The biggest culprit, no surprise, is Javier. He seems to like an audience. He’s always “on.” Taking it upon himself to get us all organized, he decides we’ll play boys against girls, which I don’t know how I feel about. Javier’s friends are clearly fans of pumping iron, but that might work against them. Or so I’m hoping.
Once we get ourselves set up and plug our names into the computer, Javier organizes a party to go get food and drinks. Jett just looks at me and shrugs.
“You’d better not throw this and let your boyfriend win,” Hazel says. “Boys are horrific when they win.” The rest of the girls nod knowingly. Yeah, I know. Just because I’ve never really had a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I am ignorant of the opposite sex. I mean, I have a Fake Boyfriend right now. I know this.
“No mercy, ladies. NO MERCY.” We all put our hands in and then do a cheer. The boys scoff, but they don’t know what they’re in for. It. Is. ON.
Chapter 11
I can add “Jett is an amazing bowler” to my Jett List. Like, seriously good. He’s gotten three strikes in a row. I have gotten two gutter balls and two spares. Nothing to write home about.
But the other girls are picking up the slack and we’re ahead by a narrow margin. Javier’s strength has gotten him two strikes and a spare, but he has a tendency to throw too hard and miss the mark. Same with Marty and Skye. In addition to the points that are being traded back and forth, there’s a hell of a lot of smack talk. Most of it is designed to be inflammatory, and we’re definitely getting some looks from the other more-subdued parties.
Hazel gets up and bowls a strike and then does a seductive walk over to the boys, turns slowly and walks back over to high fives and fist bumps from the rest of us.
“We can’t let that stand, can we boys?” It’s Javier’s turn. He gets up, picks up his ball and kisses it, which I think is the height of disgusting. Who KNOWS where that ball has been? Then he whispers something, holds the ball in front, steps forward and throws it with a flick of his wrist.
The pins clatter to the floor and Javier raises his hands in victory. Lots of whooping follows as he celebrates. We all boo and throw things at him. We’re even louder now that several trays of Jell-O shots have been consumed. I swear, I’m like, contact drunk. As the game wears on, the alcohol flows, the yelling gets louder and the flirting and trash talking get more obvious.
Marty and Skye are both gunning for Hazel, but she’s not giving them the time of day, or maybe she’s playing hard to get. I’ll have to ask her later. She’s so good at it, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell if it’s genuine. Jordyn can’t stop giving Tanner googly eyes, but he’s a little distracted by a girl in the group who’s been giving him the eye. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Cass keeps looking at Boyd, and he looks back at her, but he’s pretty quiet when it comes to the smack talk. In fact, he’s barely said three words. Strong and silent.
And Jett. Oh, Jett. If anyone could make bowling sexy, it’s the boy with the dragon tattoos.
“You have got it bad,” Hazel says in my ear as I watch Jett smoothly get another strike. I’ve been so distracted by him that her voice makes me jump.
“I can’t help it.”
“He is pretty sexy, if you like that kind of thing. I like a guy with a little bit more meat on him, if you know what I mean.” I turn away from Jett as he sits back down.
“He’s got plenty of meat. There is nothing wrong with his meat.” Granted, I haven’t seen his meat, but I’m sure it’s fine. At least I hope it’s fine. I’m sure it’s lovely meat, as far as meat goes.
Hazel laughs.
“But his meat is the only meat you’ve had. You have to sample lots of different meat to find out which is the best. How can you judge meat if you’ve only had one kind?”
“I’m fine with his meat.” This conversation is getting a little too convoluted for me.
“You say that now . . .” she trails off.
“Okay, can we stop talking about meat?” I say.
“What about meat?” Jordyn says, finally taking her eyes off Tanner. She has got to purposely be ignoring Tanner and his wandering eyes.
“How’s Tanner’s meat? Nice and juicy?” Jordyn looks scandalized and then smiles.
“It’s perfectly juicy.” Ugh, this has become a disgusting conversation that I want to work my way out of.
Fortunately, the end of the game and the victory of Team Vag**a ends the meat talk. We decide we’re done with bowling (since the boys are nursing their wounded egos), but we’re not ready to leave, so we head to the bar, where the bartender doesn’t seem to notice if anyone is of age. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s probably bad business to card anyone. He wouldn’t have any customers. Whatever, it’s not my problem.
I order a drink and nurse it along. By the time we leave, I should be good to go.
Javier is smashed again, and he’s started singing along with the song that’s playing in the bar. I can’t really tell what it is because he’s so loud and he’s mangling the lyrics so much. He climbs up on a table and stands, much to the disgruntlement of the bartender who yells at him to get down before he breaks something on his property. Javier reluctantly gets down and Jett’s arm snakes around my shoulders.
“Hey, princess. Having a good time?” I turn and kiss his cheek. I’m feeling extra affectionate right now.
“I am, are you? Even though you lost and we handed your manhood to you?” Oh, snap.
“Behave,” he says, pinching my nose. “We’ll get you next time. Now we have a score to settle and reputations are on the line. We’re coming for you.”
“Is that so?”
“I never joke about bowling. Bowling is serious business.”
The only reason we leave the bowling alley is because we get kicked out when they close at 2 a.m. Everyone but me (and Jett) is completely toasted and ready to pass out. Well, everyone except us and Javier. He hasn’t passed out yet.
Jett and I drive everyone back to their respective apartments because everyone is too drunk to drive and then we head back to mine. Hazel mumbles two words and heads to her room. Jett didn’t have anything to drink, and for some reason, I’m not tired at all. I think I’m on my second wind, or something. I’ll probably be up all night and then crash tomorrow afternoon.
“You want to just go to bed?” Jett says, stretching his arms. He does that a lot. I like it because it makes his shirt ride up and then I get to see some of his stomach. I just wish I could see all of it.
One of these times, I’m going to catch him. We have an unspoken rule that shirts and shorts are required when sleeping. If it wouldn’t have been a double standard, I’d have said that Jett should be shirtless, but then he’d say that I should be shirtless and we wouldn’t get anywhere. I could play that argument in my head without even doing it out loud.
“I’m not that tired, but we can go to bed if you want to.”
“No, if you want to stay up that’s fine. Watch a movie or something?” This is one of our favorite things to do when we’re together. We seem to have the same tastes in films.
“I might fall asleep. How about something we’ve watched before so I don’t miss anything?” he says as we go into my room to get our pajamas. I’ve stopped wearing the ugly ones. Okay, so I went out and bought some. Shorts and matching t-shirts. Cute ones with the Batman logo on them, or with funny words all over them, and even a pair with bacon. I thought Jett would like those, so I’m wearing them tonight.
“You get to pick.” We’ve been trading who gets to pick what movie we watch. I got to choose last and I made him watch Crazy, Stupid, Love. I said it was because it was really funny and had Steve Carell in it, but really, I wanted to see Ryan Gosling with his shirt off. If I can’t see Jett with his shirt off, Ryan is the next best thing. Hubba, hubba.
“Uh, Mean Girls.”
“Wait, you’re choosing Mean Girls? Did you really like it that much?”
He just shrugs and grabs his pajamas and heads for the bathroom. “What? Tina Fey is a genius.”
Yes, he is the perfect guy. Be jealous.
An hour later, I’m in my bacon pajamas, Jett is wearing a tank top and shorts and we’re semi-snuggling on the couch. He keeps trying to tickle my feet and I keep threatening to kick him in the face. So much for trying to be quiet. Poor Hazel. Hopefully she’s intoxicated enough that she’s already passed out.
“Seriously, stop it,” I say when he goes for my feet again.
“Can your boobs tell when it’s raining?” he says, quoting the movie as I shift so he can’t get to my feet.
I look down at my boobs. They’re awesome, but they’re not quite that awesome.