Free The Sign of Seven Trilogy by Nora Roberts Page B

and so on.”
    â€œWell, Christ,” was all Quinn could think to say.
    Cal brought back a pair of maroon and cream bowling shoes, and another, larger pair of dark brown ones, which were obviously his. “Lane five’s open. You want in, Fox?”
    â€œSadly, I have a brief to finish writing. I’ll rain-check it. See you later, Quinn.”
    Cal tucked the shoes under his arm, then, taking Quinn’s hand, pulled her off the stool. “When’s the last time you bowled?” he asked as he led her across the alley to an open lane.
    â€œI think I was fourteen. Group date, which didn’t go well, as the object of my affection, Nathan Hobbs, only had eyes for the incessantly giggly and already well-developed Missy Dover.”
    â€œYou can’t let previous heartbreak spoil your enjoyment.”
    â€œBut I didn’t like the bowling part either.”
    â€œThat was then.” Cal sat her down on the smooth wooden bench, slid on beside her. “You’ll have a better time with it tonight. Ever make a strike?”
    â€œStill talking bowling? No.”
    â€œYou will, and there’s nothing much that beats the feeling of that first strike.”
    â€œHow about sex with Hugh Jackman?”
    He stopped tying his bowling shoe to stare over at her. “You had sex with Hugh Jackman?”
    â€œNo, but I’m willing to bet any amount of money that having sex with Hugh Jackman would, for me, beat out the feeling of knocking down ten pins with one ball.”
    â€œOkay. But I’m willing to bet—let’s make it ten bucks—that when you throw a strike, you’ll admit it’s up there on the Thrill-O-Meter.”
    â€œFirst, it’s highly unlikely I’ll throw anything resembling a strike. Second, I could lie.”
    â€œYou will. And you won’t. Change your shoes, Blondie.”

Five
    I T WASN’T AS RIDICULOUS AS SHE’D ASSUMED IT would be. Silly, yes, but she had plenty of room for silly.
    The balls were mottled black—the small ones without the three holes. The job was to heave it down the long polished alley toward the red-necked pins he called Duck Pins.
    He watched as she walked up to the foul line, swung back, and did the heave.
    The ball bounced a couple of times before it toppled into the gutter.
    â€œOkay.” She turned, tossed back her hair. “Your turn.”
    â€œYou get two more balls per frame.”
    â€œWoo-hoo.”
    He shot her the quick grin. “Let’s work on your delivery and follow-through, then we’ll tackle approach.” He walked toward her with another ball as he spoke. He handed her the ball. “Hold it with both hands,” he instructed as he turned her around to face the pins. “Now you want to take a step forward with your left foot, bend your knees like you were doing a squat, but bend over from the waist.”
    He was snuggled up right behind her now, his front sort of bowing over her back. She tipped her face around to meet his eyes.
    â€œYou use this routine to hit on women, right?”
    â€œAbsolutely. Eighty-five percent success ratio. You’re going to want to aim for the front pin. You can worry about the pockets and the sweet spot later. Now you’re just going to bring your right arm back, then sweep it forward with your fingers aimed at the front pin. Let the ball go, following your fingers.”
    â€œHmm.” But she tried it. This time the ball didn’t bounce straight into the gutter, but actually stayed on the lane long enough to bump down the two pins on the far right.
    Since the woman in the next lane, who had to be sixty if she was a day, slid gracefully to the foul line, released, and knocked down seven pins, Quinn didn’t feel like celebrating.
    â€œBetter.”
    â€œTwo balls, two pins. I don’t think that earns my bootie dance.”
    â€œSince I’m looking forward to your bootie dance, I’ll help you