Some Like it Hotter

Ames stood abruptly. “Let’s get a drink. For God’s sake.”

“What a great idea. Wish I’d thought of it.” She took his hand and swung it as they walked.

He was too grouchy to spar with her further. Her hand felt soft and warm and good in his. It had been a long time since he’d strolled holding hands with a woman. His last girlfriend, Taylor, had objected to walking that way, said it made her feel as though she was his daughter. That was strange, but whatever. Everyone had something that bugged them. Before Taylor he’d dated Patricia, who wouldn’t go out on days she’d had her nails done. Before Patricia there’d been Ashley, who was so tenderhearted she couldn’t handle movies with any violence. Nice women, all of them. Intelligent, beautiful, cultured, great company, but something had been missing every time. And then he’d seen Chris, and his instinct had kicked in so strongly.

“Are we going to walk to this place?” Eva asked.

Ames ended his reverie. No point thinking about something that was never going to happen. “We can or take a taxi. It’s several blocks.”

“Oh, walk, absolutely walk. I want to see everything.”

“Fine by me.” He had a new attitude about her boots. Too many women he dated wore heels so high they could barely make it to the end of a block without complaining.

“How long have you lived in the city?” She danced away from him, looking up, turned in a circle, then danced back, not taking his hand again.

“Since I was eighteen and came here to college at NYU from Jersey.”

“Joisey, right. I’m from central Wisconsin, a town just north of Madison. Dad’s a coffee scientist. Mom is an accountant. Does your mom work?”

“She helps Dad with the store. Bookkeeping, mostly.” He turned up University Place, heading for union   Square, then Eighteenth Street and one of his brother’s favorite bars, Old Town. There were a couple of fabulous wine bars in the area, customers of his, but he wasn’t sure they could handle shiny lime-green boots.

Actually...this was New York. They could handle anything. The real question was whether Ames could handle them.

No, not really.

“Brothers? Sisters? Occupations?”

He sent her a look. “Are you going to keep this interrogation up all night?”

“Conversation, Ames, remember?”

“One brother. Mike. A schoolteacher.”

“Ah, so you, the favored son, carried on the family tradition.”

“I was always interested in wine. Worked at the store from age sixteen, read everything about it I could get my hands on.”

“Drank everything you could get your hands on, too?”

“Tasted, then spat.” He snorted. “If I drank every kind of wine I learned about, I’d be in serious trouble.”

“How did you get started at Boyce Wines?”

“Dad used them for years at his store, insisted they were the best. He had a lot of respect for them and their business practices. So I applied, got a job, blah, blah, blah.”

“Do you get to travel to vineyards? Hey, you can visit me in California!”

He wasn’t going to touch that. “Boyce doesn’t sell California wine. Just Italy and France.”

“Then next time you go, I would be happy to come with you. Seriously.”

He shot her a look. “Do I get to ask you questions now?”

“Wait. Wait.” She dragged him out of the flow of pedestrians toward the street and pointed back at a building entrance they’d just passed. “Look at that!”

“What?” He saw a black awning with bowling pins on it. That couldn’t be what had her so excited.

Please, no.

“Come on, let’s check it out!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. “I think there’s bowling. This will be totally fun.”

“Uh...” Bowling? “I’m not sure it’s my thing.”

“Of course it isn’t. It’s crazy. But how can you resist?”

If he knew how to answer that, he might be able to explain why he was still hanging out with her. Or how she got him inside the place and upstairs, where the place turned out to be some kind of amusement bar, decorated as homage to the preppy frat boy experience, with plaid upholstery, bowling, pool, darts and games of beer pong. Took him back more than ten years to his own college days.