Breakaway (Penalty Kill 1)

“Maybe you should show me how it’s done?”

Her laughing sombers and she quirks an eyebrow at me, questioning my seriousness. When I walk over to her and take her hand, she looks around the busy place.

“Don’t worry, no one is paying attention to us,” I say softly, grabbing my ball and handing it to her. I urge her in front of me and move my hands to her waist. She stops in front of the lane, and I can feel how slowly she’s breathing with my chest against her back. I place the toe of my shoe in between her heels and push her right leg over, stopping just on the inside of the dot where my foot will go. I repeat the action with her other foot and feel a thrill at opening her legs for me. Although the situation is entirely different, the effect is the same.

My hands leave her hips and lift to her elbows, gliding down her arms until I reach her hands. My breath tickles her by the slight shiver she makes when I whisper into her ear, “I’m ready. Are you?”

“Yeah,” she says, the air rushing from her pretty lips. As if realizing how breathy she sounds, she slightly clears her throat and says more composed this time, “Yes. Are you paying attention?” Presley looks over at me with a tad bit of a push backwards with her hips, indicating that my mind is anywhere but bowling.

“Trust me, Smarty. I’m paying attention.”

She smiles and forces my attention back to the game. “Okay, splay your fingers like this so you have a good grip,” she demands, moving her hands down to cup the ball better, and I follow suit. “Lean down,” she says quietly, bending as she speaks, and I lean with her. “Back,” she breathes, my arms pressing into her thighs as we take the ball backwards. “And roll,” she finishes, my hands following hers as she brings her arms forward and releases the ball.

Standing upright, she turns on her heels to face me, the ball forgotten if we were ever thinking about it to start with. My hands reclaim her hips, and Presley squints her eyes somewhat, tilting her head, and tells me with a quick look over her shoulder, “I think you’ll need a lot more practice before you go pro, Levi.” Presley pats my shoulder and walks around me. I only hit an additional two pins. Laughing, I take a seat and watch as she bowls normally.

Throughout the game, Presley brags about being ahead. Let’s face it. After that, I can’t think straight enough to bowl as great as usual, and she wins the game. It’s crazy because I suckedwith the rails up! We have just stepped outside, and Presley stops me.

“I want a piggy back ride.”

“What?” That’s a little out in left field.

“I won and I deserve a prize. I choose that.”

“A piggy back ride when you could have me?” I ask, bending down so she could jump onto my back.

She laughs. “Why not this when I really already have you? Hence my ride.”

I tighten my grip on her legs as she loosely wraps her arms around my neck before I stand upright. Part of me wants to groan in torture at the feel of her pressed against me, but I don’t.

“What’s next?” Presley whispers into my ear.

I swallow hard. “I figured I’d take you home, unless you’re hungry?”

“After all that winning, I am pretty famished. I could go for a milkshake.”

I chuckle. “Milkshake, it is.”

Back at my car, Presley slides down my back, and it’s all I can do not to take her right then and there. With a push of a button, my doors are unlocked, and I open her door for her. We drive to an ice cream parlor a couple of blocks away, and Presley orders a large strawberry milkshake.

“That’s so gross. Strawberry ice cream has to be the worst flavor ever created,” I tell her, scrunching my nose as she sips. We’re sitting at a small, round table, and I’ve got my cookies and cream milkshake in my hand. Presley leans forward and so do I.

“Maybe you’ve been tasting the wrong kind.” She licks her lips deliberately, inviting me over. Presley doesn’t have to ask me twice. I inch closer to her and kiss her, parting her lips for a taste. So damn good. I pull back and smile.

“Best strawberry ice cream ever.”

“Told ya.” She shrugs like I didn’t affect her at all. I did, though. She runs her tongue over her lips once more before bringing the straw back to her mouth. “So...” she trails, her eyes cast downward on the lid of her cup.

“Mm?” I ask around my straw.

“Levi,” she begins with a glance up at me, “you’re fun and all, but I don’t know about hanging out with you, much less kissing you. Trevor would kill me if he found out that I’m here with you and then he’d probably kill you too. I just can’t hurt my brother like that.”

Presley is ending it before it even starts? I don’t think so. I set my cup on the table and fold my arms across my chest, leaning forward to rest on the surface. “Presley,” I say sweetly. “Did you enjoy yourself?” She nods. “Were you anything but happy? Having a good time, right?” She watches me, waiting to see where I’m going with this. “I know who I am to McCarthy. I’m the enemy and that’s fine. Would he really be so upset that you were out having fun?”

“With you, yes.”

“Okay.” I don’t know why I’m saying this, but okay. “If that’s whatyou want.” Even though I know it isn’t. “Then okay. C’mon. Let me take you home.” I stand.

Presley seems shocked at first, but then it disappears and she stands. We drop our cups in the trash on the way out, mine still half full. I ignore the sideways glances on the drive back. It’s quiet, even the radio is off.