The Undead Pool

“I can’t be like Ceri, showing the world one face and my heart something else,” I said, gut clenching.

“I’m not asking you to.”

I looked up from my hands, my breath catching at his earnest expression. “Then what are you asking?”

His lips twisted, and he turned away. “I don’t know. But Ellasbeth is coming back with the girls tomorrow—”

I pounced on that. “Yes, Ellasbeth.” He winced. A second couple was going in, and I looked at the glowing sign. Couples night. Swell. “Trent, I will not be a mistress.”

“I know.” His voice was becoming softer, more frustrated.

“Yes, but we’re still sitting here,” I said, my anger building. “Why are we here if we both know it’s not going to work?”

“I want to take you bowling,” he said as if that was all there was to it, and I flung my head back, staring at the roof of the car.

“Rachel,” he said tightly, and I brought my head down. “Tonight is my last night before the girls come home and my world shifts back to them. I’ve never had time for myself like this. Ever. Quen will be there evaluating me though I know he doesn’t mean to, and until she leaves, Ellasbeth will be doing the same. The girls will be front and center as they’re supposed to be, and that’s okay. But I’ve spent the last three months with you and this incredible freedom that I’ve never had before, and I need to know if . . .”

His words trailed off, and my heart hammered at his expression, both pained and wistful.

“I need to know,” he said softly. “I want to know what a date with you is like so I can look at it and say that was a date. This was business. One date. One real date, with a good-night kiss and everything. One date so I can honestly say to myself that the others were not . . . dates.”

I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, and I looked back down at my hands, all twisted up again. Slowly, deliberately, I opened my fingers and splayed them out on my knees. I knew what he was talking about, and it might not be a bad idea—having a reference and all. But it sounded dangerous. “Bowling?” I questioned, and the worry wrinkle in his brow eased.

“Sure,” he said, his hands falling from the wheel. “You can’t get banned, so there’s no reason for them to kick us out.” He hesitated, then added, “Or I can take you back home.”

I didn’t want to go home. Knees wobbly, I yanked the door handle, grabbing my shoulder bag as I got out of the car. “No kiss,” I said over the car. “Not all dates end with a kiss.”

His smile hesitant, Trent got out and came around the front of the car. “If that’s what you want,” he said, and flustered, I put my hands in my pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to take them, flashing him a stilted smile when he reached to get the heavy oak door for me.

Though clearly disappointed about the kiss stipulation, Trent seemed happy that I hadn’t said no outright, and he stood behind me as I shifted to the right of the door, breathing in the stale smell of beer and really good burgers. The crack of the pins followed by an exuberant call of success was relaxing, and the sappy couples music made me smile. “I’ve not been bowling in ages,” I said, and Trent fidgeted his way out from behind me.

“This is okay?” he said hesitantly, and I nodded. The soft touch of his hand on the small of my back jolted through me, and I scrambled to catch my energy balance before it tried to equalize between us. I felt overdressed as we approached the counter, and I set my bag down on the scratched plastic to take my jacket off to turn me from security to professional woman coming right from work. Under the plastic top were perfect bowling scores, and I glanced at the bar in the corner, my stomach rumbling at the smell of greasy, salty, wonderful bar food. Yes, this is okay. God help me if Al ever found out.

“Two games, please,” Trent said as he reached for his wallet. “You have a fast lane?”

The guy behind the counter turned from changing the disc on the music they were piping through the place. He looked old, but it was mostly life wearing him down. “Three is fast,” he said, then blinked as he saw me. Crap, had I been recognized? “You, ah, need shoes?”

Trent nodded. “Size 8 women’s, and a men’s 10.”

The bowling guy’s chair was on casters, and with a practiced move, he shoved backward to the honeycomb wall behind the counter, grabbing two pairs and shoving himself back. “Ah, with the shoes, that will be forty-three, unless you want to include two burger baskets. They come with two complimentary beers each.”

It was couples night after all, and Trent turned to me. “Okay with you?”

“Sure.” Oh God, what was I doing? This felt more risky than anything I’d ever done with Trent before, including the time we’d stolen elf DNA from the demons. Nervous, I turned to the bar again. The TV was spouting today’s recycled bad news to counteract the love songs, but the love songs were winning.