Mira

"Okay, I was laughing at the situation, but to be fair, I didn't even know colleges had bowling teams."

"Don't beat yourself up too much. I've heard worse."

Worse like what? I want to know everything about this grumpy man who played on a bowling team and joined a mentorship program for people with disabilities despite his insanely busy schedule. Elliot is more complex than he seems, and I'm dying to learn everything about this unexpected side of his personality.

I have a strange little urge to protect him from having to "hear worse."

Where did an idea like that come from?

Stop!

"It's actually kind of cool. Girls like guys in varsity jackets."

"I cared far too much about my reputation to wear that jacket at school."

"Why?"

"I joined the team to spite my father. He didn't specify which team I had to join, so I beat him at his own game."

I'm surprised he shares such a personal decision with me.

He keeps going without pause, as though he might stop talking if he waits another second but desperately wants to confide in me.

"He was furious I was never selected for one of the 'real sports' like my brothers. Adrian was the high school quarterback, and Nico was captain of the hockey team. I was considered... mediocre." He clears his throat. "Especially by my old man."

My heart aches for the teenager who struggled to live up to his father's expectations. Elliot may be rich, but he has the same kinds of problems as the rest of us: parental expectations, personal failures...

I want to help him relax the muscles in his shoulders.

"Are you telling me you couldn't pay them to let you onto a team?" I ask, feigning shock.

"Ah, you're starting to understand how the world works!" he replies with half a smile. "Quite the opposite. I paid the coaches not to take me."

"But why?"

"I had no desire to spend every game warming the bench."

"Were you really that bad?"

"Yes."

A faint shade of pink colors his cheeks, and I find it rather charming.

Charming? No, Mira!

"Actually, I like the idea that you're not the best at everything."

"At one thing, Mira. One."

"So, did you win a bowling championship?"

I flash him a broad smile. His shoulders loosen a little.

"I never lose."

"Honestly, your arrogance knows no bounds!"

Elliot doesn't say a word, but the smile on his face says plenty. It's a tight smile, as though he's unaccustomed to it. I'm tempted to touch his lips to make sure I'm not hallucinating, but I keep my hands to myself.

I shouldn't find it this endearing. And I really shouldn't want to see that shy smile more often.

When it's my turn again, I call Elliot over.

"Could you help me, please? An expert told me I turn my wrist too much."

His little smile reappears. I want to do everything in my power to provoke that reaction again. Now that I know a little more about the man hiding behind his suits as if they were armor, I want to discover more about him. No matter the consequences.

He walks with such confidence, it's as if he's declaring: I have a big one, and I know how to use it.

Mira, don't think about his penis!

After picking up his ball, Elliot stands beside me while maintaining a respectable distance between us. I'm disappointed: I'd hoped it would be like the movies, when the hero assists the heroine.

"Look. This is how you're swinging your ball."

He sends his arm backward and twists it at an odd angle.

"Your path curves and heads toward the gutter."

He imitates the way my arm swings like a pendulum in the opposite direction. As he shows me the correct position, I do my best not to stare at the veins in his forearms. Unfortunately, it's a lost cause: I'm fascinated by the movements of his body.

"Your turn. Try it."

The request pulls me out of my thoughts.

I attempt the throw he demonstrated, and judging by the gleam in his eyes, it isn't a success.

"No. Let me help you."

He puts down his ball and steps behind me. The heat radiating from him warms my entire back.

Ah, finally!

His hand brushes my arm before closing around my wrist like a cuff. He touches me so gently that my heart starts hammering in my chest.

Seriously, he's only holding your wrist. Calm down!

His rough voice is little more than a whisper in my ear, yet I feel it resonate deep inside me.

"Try again."

I swing my arm back. Elliot's fingers stay wrapped around my wrist to guide me. He repeats the motion several times.

"Now try it on your own."

He slides his fingers along my forearm before letting go.

Disappointed that he's stopped touching me, I deliberately botch my attempt.

"No," he says with a quiet laugh. "But that was a little better."

I'm rewarded by his hand returning to my wrist. This time, when he lets go, I make a genuine effort to perform the movement correctly. My efforts earn me one of his faint smiles.

"Perfect. Just like that. Okay, try once more," he says, gesturing toward the lane.

I take a few steps and repeat the motion he taught me. The bowling ball rolls straight over the polished floor, following the path marked by the small arrows.

I hold my breath when the ball strikes the front pins, sending some flying while others roll in opposite directions. Not a single one remains standing. A red X lights up above the empty spot.

Shrieking with joy, I run straight toward Elliot, who is staring at my fallen pins.

"I did it! I did it!"

He freezes when I wrap my arms around his waist. Despite the deafening music and the crash of pins, I notice the rapid beat of his heart.

His arms stay glued to his sides, as though he doesn't know how to return my embrace. I laugh against his chest.

"Come on, you two! We're almost out of time!" my sister calls.

A harsh return to reality. I pull away from Elliot quickly. His face remains closed off, but now I know how his body reacts to my touch.

And making a man like him nervous feels pretty good.