One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,21
Ask something else.
Peyton: You’re right. The confidentiality of ass tattoos is too easily compromised. How about this? What did Lola recommend I keep an open mind about when I was in the midst of the Project Sexy Scenes research last fall with Tristan?
Lola: Lube! Also, I do not have an ass tattoo. Or any tattoos for that matter!
Peyton: You passed!
Amy: It’s you! You’re safe! Hallelujah!
Lola: Yes, you devils. It’s me. I’m fine, and everything is fine, and we are making progress.
Amy: Define “progress.” Are you: A) Fighting with him? B) Rolling your eyes at him? C) Wondering what he looks like naked?
Lola: All of the above, but I’m not acting on C. We’re going to Pin-Up Lanes for guitars.
Peyton: Get the rosemary fries there. They are delish.
Lola: I know! I don’t ever resist rosemary fries from Pin-Up Lanes.
Amy: Words to live by. But before the great French fry consumption begins, what is the status of your efforts to tango horizontally with the one who got away?
Lola: I never said he was the one who got away.
Amy: You don’t have to. That’s what we call him on your behalf. When we aren’t hating him for you.
Peyton: Do you need a sexy new bra-and-panty set first? Because I can messenger one from my store to your place stat.
Lola: No bra-and-panty set is necessary for fry-eating because there will be no removal of clothes. We are on our way to a freaking bowling alley.
Amy: You’re going to get naked with him there? Like, at the ball return? In the restroom? Or will you do it on the scoring table? Also, does this mean the hating is over?
Peyton: Nudity at a bowling alley ought to make for an interesting Friday night.
Before I can tap out another response, we pass a cheese shop.
“Stop!” Lucas shouts.
The cab squeals to the curb.
“What the hell?” I ask.
“The Star Wars shirts,” he says, a smile lighting up his face. “The note said: Because your Star Wars T-shirts are where you argued over where you first met! Hint: there was cheese involved, you little hipsters.”
And my expression matches his. “Yes! She loves going there.”
The sign on The Grater Good says it closes at eight, so we rush in with three minutes to spare. This feels like how we were. This was us back in college before everything went belly-up—having fun, playing games, exploring the city together.
Lucas marches over to the bearded man in a leather apron who’s arranging handwritten signs in front of the cheese display. “Friday night cheese craving? I can solve that,” the man says with a smile.
“Excellent. I’ll take some Gouda and whatever the lady wants if you tell me you’ve got a bag of Star Wars T-shirts with our name on them?”
The man smiles. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
And we leave a minute later, with Star Wars T-shirts, a wedge of Gouda for him, and some Manchego for me.
And cheesy grins on our faces too.
Two down. Five to go.
The guy with the vest and horn-rimmed glasses lugs two guitars out from behind the counter at the bowling alley, and I clap my hands with excitement. Progress rocks.
“Thank you so much,” I tell him.
“No problem. But I’m not gonna lie. I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” the guy says, shaking his head. “Even had a bet going with Harrison when he dropped these off.”
I furrow my brow. “You did?”
“Hell yeah. We played a round, he bowled three hundred, then asked me to store these things. And I said if you weren’t here by the end of tonight, he’d owe me a six-pack.” The man smiles ruefully. “Kinda wish you’d shown up later.”
Lucas laughs. “I’ll send you a six-pack myself as a thanks for keeping these safe”—Lucas scans the name tag on the man’s tweed vest—“Parker.”
Parker’s gray eyes light up. “Yeah? You would?”
“Sure. You kept these safe for my brother. What’s your poison and when does your shift end?”
Parker says midnight and names his favorite IPA while Lucas taps his phone. He swipes a few more times. “Done. Delivery for you coming at midnight. Thanks again.”
“That’s awesome.” Parker gives him a thumbs-up. “Rock on.”
“Same to you,” Lucas says, and it’s funny that a self-proclaimed “yeller at people” is actually so good with people when he needs to be.
“Thanks, Parker,” I call out as the man returns to the counter to check in a new group of bowlers. Then to Lucas, I say, “Amazing how happy a few beers can make a guy.”