The Risk-Taker by Kira Sinclair

they were tiptoeing around one another was any indication, they were seriously interested in each other.
    A voice crackled over the intercom, “Everyone ready?” Suddenly most of the overhead lights dimmed, plunging the bowling alley into gloomy shadows. Another set of lights popped on in their place—black lights—making the swirling designs painted on the walls glow.
    At the end of the lane the pin mechanism whirred. When it lifted Hope realized the pins were glowing, too. Moody music pumped through the speakers, thumping deep in her chest.
    Gage grinned down at her, his teeth gleaming. Shrugging his shoulders, he shed the black jacket, revealing a plain white T-shirt that radiated light.
    “This is going to be fun.” His voice was dark, and throbbed with a promise that her body determined had nothing to do with knocking down pins. Suddenly the middle of a Sunday afternoon felt more like midnight.
    “I haven’t bowled in years.”
    Standing up, Gage rolled his shoulders and neck, cracking it even as he reached for one of the balls waiting in the rack. Without hesitation, he stepped up to the line, settled the ball in his hands, walked a few steps and then let it fly. The rhythmic motion of his body was so smooth and mesmerizing that Hope wasn’t even paying attention to the ball rolling down the lane until he let out a whoop of victory and the clatter of falling pins registered in her ears.
    Every last one of them rolled haphazardly across the floor.
    “Is there anything you’re not good at?” she blurted out without thinking.
    Gage stopped midstride on his way back to the seating pit. Loud enough for everyone to hear five lanes over, he said, “Getting you to say yes.”
    Behind her, Lexi snickered. Willow smothered a laugh with her hand. Hope felt heat race up her face. Thank God it was dark and no one would notice.
    Gage dropped down beside her, his eyes locked onto her face. No one but Gage.
    “Didn’t that hurt your thumb?” she croaked out, trying to fill the space between them with something.
    “Yes.”
    That was it. No explanation. No excuse. Just a calm, immediate acceptance of the pain. For a game.
    “Then why are you bowling?”
    “Because I can.” The rough pad of a single finger ran softly down the length of her cheekbone. “Because you’re here.”
    Hope jumped up, nearly knocking poor Max out of his chair. To cover her reaction, she grabbed for a ball and walked to the line.
    She had no idea what she was doing. Maybe if she hadn’t been flustered, what little she remembered from her infrequent childhood visits to the bowling alley might have resurfaced, but the minute Gage touched her her brain had checked out.
    Mimicking Gage’s movements, she settled the ball in front of her, took several steps and sent the heavy weight careening down the lane. Twenty feet down the ball rolled drunkenly into the gutter, nowhere close to hitting a single pin.
    With a sigh of dissatisfaction, Hope spun around, not wanting to watch the ball finish its pathetic roll. But as she reached the drop-off back into the pit Gage was there waiting. He blocked the path and wouldn’t let her down.
    “You’ve got another turn.”
    “What if I don’t want it?”
    Gage stood below her, just enough that their eyes were perfectly level. His gaze bored into hers, demanding something from her that she didn’t want to give. “Since when are you a quitter? As long as I’ve known you, when you want something nothing can stand in your way. Including me.”
    That was completely different. He was comparing her entire life plan to a silly game. “This game hardly matters, Gage.”
    “Maybe not, but you’re still letting it beat you.”
    With a grumble of exasperation, she grabbed for the ball as it popped back into the return. “Happy?” Spinning around, she cradled it in her arms and prepared to chuck it down the lane as fast as possible, but she didn’t make it.
    He plucked it out of her grasp, leaving her hands