Breakaway (Penalty Kill 1)

It’s in the morning that I realize my mistake. We’ve got a game tonight, and it’s an hour away. I have two options. Text her and move it to another night or tell her that it’ll be late again. I decide that I’ll let her choose and quickly send a message about the dilemma. It’s not until after my second class, which ends at noon, that she replies. Looks like it’ll be another late night for me, and now I’m wondering where we’ll go, and I replay last night’s conversations for any clues.

She didn’t give much away about her interests so maybe I’ll pick something from mine and show her. Hockey takes up a lot of my time, so it’s been awhile since I’ve done something else. The thought brings bowling to mind and then the thoughts of watching Presley bowl. I shake my head to focus through the rest of the day.

The game is well matched and Nichols is still stewing on the bench while Jere plays well on the ice. Coach likes the switch because of the simple fact that Jere is becoming a great asset for our team. The elation, a high so sweet and intoxicating, floods my senses not only because I scored, but because I love the game. Being on the ice just skating alerts me, but it’s the game that I love the most. The energy of the players mixing with the crowd...there’s nothing else like it. Nothing that even slightly compares to this.

Wins are always sweet and tonight is no different. My body is buzzing still, even after we arrived back on campus, I drove to the apartment, showered, changed, and now I’m parked in front of Presley’s apartment building. She doesn’t allow me to get farther than the front of my car before she’s halfway here. I open the door for her after a quick hello and close the door behind her.

“How was the game?” she asks when I’m back on the road.

I cut my eyes over at her and see that her thumbs are making circles around themselves. She’s nervous, an emotion I’ve never seen on her in the short time that I’ve known her. “It was good. We won,” I add and she nods.

“Where are we going?”

“Bowling. There’s a place on this side of Roxboro that I like to go to and I figured we’d go there. That okay?”

Those clear brown eyes meet mine when I glance her way. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

I reach over and take her hand, an action that didn’t take much thought. “You know, I would say that I don’t bite,” I look over seeing that I have her attention, “but I do.” I grin and shrug as if it’s no big deal.

She takes her free hand and lightly runs the tip of her nails over my hand. “I would say that I don’t scratch,” she lifts and drops her shoulders, “but I do.”

My head whips over to look at her, and she cracks up laughing. I can just imagine a naked Presley underneath me with her fingers digging and breaking my skin as she claws her way down my back.

I clear my throat and say, “You better not be kidding.”

All she does is smirk as we have arrived at the bowling alley. I open the doors along the way, and once we have our shoes, she enters our names into the screen while I change shoes.

“What size ball do you need?” I ask once my shoes are on and she’s in the process of putting on hers.

“A 9 is too small, but an 11 is too heavy, so I need a perfect 10.” Presley shifts her attention to me with a small smile. I chuckle and leave to grab the balls. Her name is first so when I hand her an orange ball, she goes to bowl. I hold back a laugh as I watch her. She’s standing a couple of feet back to give her enough room, and she’s switching pressure from one leg to the other.

“Any time tonight would be great,” I say behind her with a laugh.

She turns around and props the ball on her hip with her fingers still inside and her other arm holding it in place. “We have a problem,” Presley states matter of factly.

Uh oh. I close the distance between us and rest my hands on her shoulders, feeling the urge to touch her. “What’s wrong?”

“I need the gutter rails up.”

My laugh sounds more like a snort because I wasn’t expecting that. “That bad, huh?” I ask as I walk over to the monitor to call someone over.

“If they aren’t up, I have to do the Granny Roll to hit a pin.”

I think about her ass and say, “That’s not such a bad thing.” A short, bald man comes up and asks what we need assistance with. “She can’t bowl worth a lick, so we need the rails up.” Presley laughs and waits patiently while the man does his job. When she’s about to bowl, I stop her. “Let’s see the Granny Roll just for fun.”

She doesn’t glance my way or otherwise acknowledge me. Instead, she goes right up to the line and spreads her legs, lining them up with the outer two dots on the floor. Her hands fall between her legs as she bends over and good god

almighty, her red hair surrounds her face, and she smiles at me before focusing back on the task at hand. Presley’s knees bend as she hauls the ball back between her legs and then throws it forward with a thump. I step to my left to watch it roll down the lane because it seems as if she’s frozen in place with the anticipation.

Perfectly straight, the ball rolls and knocks down every pin. I smile as Presley screams a “yes” and jumps up, swiveling to look at me.

“Did you see that? A strike! I’ve never gotten a strike before.”

I high five her as the pins reset and then she takes a seat.

“Hey, Carr,” she calls from behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see a big grin on her face. “Why don’t you match my Granny Roll?”

Chuckling and with exaggerated movement, I repeat her actions with the same display as she gave me, and I hear her laughter, such a sweet melody. My Granny Roll? It sucked. I accidentally twisted my hand at the last second, so I only knocked down three pins on the left, extending Presley’s laughing fit. I stand beside the ball return and watch her giggle, shaking my head.