counter. “Bowling isn’t about fun. It’s about sport. Life. Loss. Those killer nachos they serve at the snack bar.”
“Those nachos are disgusting,” Nick says.
Doug puts an arm around me. “They’re dope. You’ll see.”
“I don’t think they ever clean out the cheese dispenser,” Nick says, holding the door open for us and eyeing Doug’s arm with an unwarranted amount of irritation. “They pour new cheese in on top of it.”
“Uggggh,” Doug groans, throwing his head back. “Velez, you are such a buzzkill. Let’s go bowl!”
“Yeah,” I say, meeting Nick’s eyes and wiggling my eyebrows. “Let’s bowl, Velez.”
Nick sighs.
* * *
* * *
Even in my wildest theories about what Nick did with his free time, I didn’t suspect bowling. But then again, he’s a mysterious man. I know nothing about his past, and certainly very little about his present, because he doesn’t share that information with me, or anyone. That’s part of the Nick Velez mystique.
But I’m realizing there’s even more to Nick than I ever suspected.
After I get my pair of actually kind of stylish bowling shoes, Doug introduces me to the only other guy there.
“And this is the one, the only, Shivanenator,” he says over the sound of bowling pins falling.
“Shivan,” says the man, holding out a hand. “The nickname doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Doug throws his hands in the air. “What the hell else am I supposed to call you?”
“Uh, how about my name?” Shivan asks.
Doug shakes his head in disgust. “I’m trying to have some fun here, and these assholes act like I’m conducting a tax audit.”
“Have we been transported back to the 1980s?” I ask, looking at the dingy, retro green carpet. “There’s a surprising amount of wood paneling in here.”
“Don’t diss the bowling alley.” Shivan points at me.
I crane my neck to look around. “And is there an arcade here?”
Doug scoffs. “Of course there’s an arcade. What the hell kind of bowling alley doesn’t have an arcade?”
I watch Nick grab a bowling ball out of that bowling ball dispenser thing (I don’t have room in my brain to learn bowling terminology) and approach the line. He holds the ball up to his nose and then, in a movement so sudden it makes me jump, slams it down the lane. It’s all very powerful and, to be honest, more than a little hot.
I unbutton the top button of my floral shirt because my neck feels warm all of a sudden. “I was not expecting bowling to be so erotic,” I mutter.
“It is when I do it,” Doug says, standing up and cracking his neck.
Shivan leans over. “It isn’t.”
“I heard that,” Doug says. “And you’re jealous.”
Nick walks over and takes Doug’s place. “You having a good time?” he asks me, eyebrows raised, like he expects me to say no or beg to go back to the shop.
“You know what? I am,” I say, giving him a smile. “I feel as if I’ve traveled back in time and it smells like feet, but it’s nice to have a break. Thank you for letting me leave the dungeon tonight.”
Nick narrows his eyes. “I would hardly refer to my business as a dungeon.”
“You’re right.” I nod. “A dungeon makes it sound much more pleasant.”
Shivan stands up. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a romantic comedy. I don’t wanna sit here anymore.”
“We’re not in a rom-com!” Nick and I shout at the same time.
Shivan squints from his standing position and scratches his chin. “Yeah, what’s that one? When Harvey Met Cindy?”
“When Harry Met Sally,” I say flatly.
He points at me. “Yeah. And they’re always, like . . .” He makes a wavy gesture with his hands. “Bantering. You know?”
“I don’t know, Shivanenator,” I say.
He shakes his head, then points at Nick. “Definitely a Harry.” He points at me. “Totes a Sally.”
I shake my head and Nick and I turn to look at each other. “Are you really okay?” he asks, his voice lower. “Because if you’re not having a good time, we can leave.”
“I’m having a lot of fun,” I say, which surprises me because . . . it’s the truth. I kind of like Nick’s bro friends and their backward baseball caps and their nonsensical nicknames.
Nick offers up a small smile, one that says, Okay, but I’m skeptical.
“All right, Chlo-dog,” Doug says. “You’re up.”
“You can’t add dog to the end of everyone’s name and make it a nickname,” I say.
“And yet, he does,” says Shivan.
“Nicknames are harder than everyone thinks,” Doug grumbles.