Better Than You: part 4

4.

 

The girl was seriously kicking his ass. The effect of her second-skin black dress was compromised by the bowling shoes, but only a little. It softened her just the smallest touch, made her seem less intimidating, but clearly she didn’t believe in playing the helpless female on a first date.

 

Mike watched her toe up to the line and turn her ball loose with a long, smooth, practiced motion. She’d bowled before: enough to be proficient. The ball went right down the middle of the lane and clipped the two pins left standing from her first throw, giving her a spare to put up alongside her three strikes.

 

“If I’d known this,” he said as she returned to her seat. “I would’ve taken you on a more traditional date.”

 

“Oh, so it’s a ‘date’ now?” She gave him the eyebrow lift as she settled back in her plastic chair and snitched one of his onion rings off the fold-out table between them. “I thought it was just dinner.”

 

She’d loosened up, and he didn’t know if that was the beer, or if she was actually having a good time. “You can’t have dinner in a bowling alley.”

 

She reached for another onion ring, dabbing at the grease on her bottom lip with a manicured finger. He thought she might have been holding back a smile. “So you lied to me then.”

 

“Misled you. Very different.”

 

“Uh-huh. You’re up.”

 

“Don’t eat all my onion rings while I go make a fool of myself.”

 

“No promises.”

 

**

 

Delta never drank beer. She never ate onion rings and hot dogs. She never hooked her knees over the arm of her chair in a public place while wearing a dress. She also never had fun on dates. It scared her to think it, but when she stopped sighing and rolling her eyes, when she got a little beer in her, Michael – Mike – was maybe…sort of…perhaps a little bit fun. If she admitted it. Which she hated to. But hey, she was drinking Bud Light and eating deep fried grease and bowling. It was such a shock compared to all her candlelight dinners with Greg; forget letting her guard down, it had been knocked down. And she was starting to think that Mike being six-foot-whatever he was and big-shouldered was terribly attractive.

 

“I can’t believe you’re beating me,” he said as he returned to his seat and made a dramatic show of throwing himself down into it.

 

“You’re going to go there?” she reached for her beer. “That whole beat by a girl pouting thing?”

 

He gave her a sideways look as he punched his score into the touchscreen. “No. Both my sisters can out-bowl me.”

 

Delta felt a smile tugging and tried to stop it. Something about knowing he had sisters – sisters who were better bowlers – sent a small shot of warmth through her. Guys didn’t talk about siblings if they were just out to get laid in a hurry.

 

“But I didn’t figure you would be able to.”

 

“Why?” she gave him another arched-brow look and took the last onion ring.

 

His grin was shameless. “You’ve got that whole princess thing going on.”

 

“And princesses can’t bowl?”

 

“Not in my experience, no.”

 

“You’re rude, you know,” she said, smile still threatening. He was rude, but in a way, he was brave too. He’d flirted with her over his perfume disaster, had come back the next day, dogged in his pursuit. And he was bold enough to tell her what he thought.

 

“I know.” He tapped the screen in front of him. “Your turn.”

 

“I have a question,” she lingered in her chair. His eyes came to hers when she didn’t speak right away and stayed there. He paid attention, this one. Was attentive without putting any effort into it. And his eyes, she noted again for reasons she didn’t understand, were very green. “Why did you buy that red dress yesterday?”

 

He feigned casual, but the slightest hint of color came up along his cheekbones. “You already know, so why do you have to even ask?”

 

“I don’t know,” she mused, smiling. “I think I just want to hear it.”

 

“Like I said – princess.”

 

“Manipulative playboy,” she countered. She was smiling like an idiot. She put a fingernail between her teeth in hopes of at least covering it a little.

 

“Playboy?” he sat back in his chair, offended.

 

“You were buying perfume for someone and now we’re here.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” his hand went back through his blonde hair, leaving it messy.

 

“So the dress,” Delta prompted, and twirled a foot as she waited, still smiling.

 

“Well you wouldn’t have gone out with me if you thought I was a cheapass, would you?”

 

“Oh, so now I’m materialistic?”

 

“High maintenance at least.”

 

She felt a giggle coming up the back of her throat. A giggle – like she was in high school. She managed to turn it into a more appropriate laugh, but she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t know which was more remarkable – laughing on a date, or laughing on this date, with this guy, in particular.

 

“Alright,” Mike got to his feet and picked up both their empty mugs. “Go kick my ass some more and I’m gonna get us refills. You want more onion rings?” He grinned. “Since you ate all of mine.”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

**

 

Reality descended in the parking lot. Delta snatched the halves of her coat together against the bite of the late November wind and felt the first prick of guilt. Greg had called her twice at the bowling alley and she hadn’t taken either of them. What was she doing? Greg was more or less her boyfriend, and here she was out with…

 

She glanced sideways at Mike as they stood on the curb. Even in heels, she would have to stand on her tiptoes to slide her arms around his neck. Which she was not thinking about.

 

…the most obnoxious blonde doofus ever. She sighed and Mike glanced down at her.

 

“You cold?”

 

“Yes,” which wasn’t really a lie.

 

He had his hands in the pockets of his awful brown bomber jacket; the thing was worn and cracked in places. Delta had a fleeting wonder if it had belonged to his dad or an uncle originally. It wasn’t new. And then she scolded herself for being curious. What did she care? It was hideous. “Where’s your car?” he scanned the lot. “I’ll walk you over.”

 

The urge to smile had faded completely. For the past two hours, Delta had felt herself begin to fill with this fizzing sort of warmth. Not excitement, not happiness, but something in between and very similar to both. Now it was gone, like a valve had been opened and it had all drained away, leaving her cold and hollow and aggravated.

 

“That way,” she nodded and stepped off the curb, fishing her keys out of her pocket.

 

Mike was a step behind her, but caught up. “You alright?”

 

She hit the remote on her key fob and the Volvo’s interior lights came on. “Fine.” She went to the driver side door and stared at her own dark reflection in the window, fiddling with her keys. He wasn’t going to handle her quick getaway well.

 

“A Volvo?” he said over her shoulder. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

 

She folded her arms across her middle and turned to face him. The neon signage on the alley threw red and blue shadows across his face, put highlights in his hair. Greg was handsome in a reserved, generic sort of way, but Mike was all demonstrative expressions and too-big smiles. The contrast shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

 

“I had this mental picture of a red Ferrari.”

 

“Michael,” she said on another sigh, and his blonde brows pulled together.

 

“How are we back to ‘Michael’? I thought I was making progress in there.”

 

“We were. You were. I -,”

 

“Was it the Volvo thing? I take it back. Awesome car, babe.”

 

“That,” she said, and felt her expression tightening. “That’s the problem.”

 

“And ‘that’ is…?”

 

“’Dollface’. ‘Sweetheart’, ‘babe’. ‘Smokin’ hot’. You can’t just…I really am seeing someone.”

 

He stared at her a long moment, face going carefully blank. “I think,” he said, “that if you wanted to be seeing whoever your ‘someone’ is, you wouldn’t have come out with me tonight. Right?”

 

There was nothing more infuriating then being told what she thought/felt/wanted. Delta kicked her chin up in defiance. “I came tonight so you’d stop harassing me at work.”

 

It was a lame excuse, both of them knew it, and his snort was unhappy. “You didn’t have a good time?” he edged in closer to her and she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You were, what, laughing under duress?”

 

She bowed up. “You are -,”

 

“An asshole,” he supplied, his smile tight. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But I didn’t force you to call me. I didn’t force you to meet me here. If you don’t wanna see me again,” he shrugged, “fine. But don’t pretend you came here for any reason besides the fact that you wanted to.”

 

She took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth, trying to temper the snap in her voice. “You are an asshole.”

 

“I know,” a grin stole across his face. “Some people think it’s kinda hot.”

 

“No one thinks that.”

 

“You’re right. No one thinks that.”

 

Delta bit down on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t understand the competing urges to slap him and burst into laughter, and she felt so, so guilty about Greg. But, then again…not that guilty. God, she clearly didn’t handle blondes well.

 

“I really am seeing someone,” she said with a groan, reaching to push her hair behind her ears.

 

His eyes went to her hand, to her naked ring finger. His mouth twitched to the side, thoughtful. “Is it serious?”

 

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted. “It probably should be.”

 

“But you’re not exactly crazy about him.”

 

“No,” she said with a wince, and before she could stop herself: “he bought me this book, and I love books, I’m a book-aholic, but this book…God, I just…” she finally got control of herself before she said too much.

 

“Well,” Mike scratched at his hair. “So it’s not too serious, then.”

 

“And what if it’s not?”

 

He leaned forward and the hand he’d pushed through his hair reached out to land against the roof of her car. She wanted to tell him he was leaving fingerprints on the clean paint, but his arm was bigger around than both of hers put together and it was hemming her in, bringing them too close together.

 

“That’s your call,” he said with a smile she hadn’t seen yet. Not the cheesy Captain America smile or the guilty, sheepish smile. It was quieter than those. “Do you want me to walk away – get in my really sweet BMW -,”

 

“Oh, God.” She rolled her eyes.

 

“ – it’s got heated leather seats. Way cooler than your ride. I can get in it, and drive away, and lose your number. Do you want that?” The wind pushed against her face, bringing with it the subtle, smoky smell of his cologne. “Or do you want him to have some competition?”

 

Her mind went to the night before, to Greg’s mindless inquiries over a steak she didn’t want. The purr of his Jag’s engine. The confusion in his eyes when she’d curled her lip at his gift. Thinking about Greg sent nothing but guilt through her system, and guilt didn’t affect her pulse. Guilt didn’t frustrate the hell out of her and make her smile. Guilt wasn’t towering over her and smelling nice and leading her to make decisions she would probably regret.

 

“I’m waiting…”

 

“Competition,” she said, already kicking herself. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

 

His grin was evil. “Oh, I’m up to it.” He leaned in and she thought he might…

 

But then he said, “call me when you get home so I know you got there safe,” and pulled away.

 

Delta stood against the side of her car, watching him start across the parking lot, and wondered what the hell was wrong with her.