“Is what so?” he asks, filling the cups. The fringe of his blonde hair falls in his eyes.
“That I’m working on pushing outside my comfort zone. Going new places. Stimulating my senses.”
“Is that why you’re wearing a hoodie and a hat?” Quinn asks, walking by and tugging on the cat ears on her hat.
“I’m not wearing the hood.”
He shakes his head and picks through the balls, looking for the right size. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?”
She looks at Owen, he nods in agreement. “Definitely ridiculous.”
“Whatever,” she says, refusing to let them bring her down. She’s not lying about wanting to bowl. She remembers watching it on TV. It seemed like the fun thing to do with friends. Astrid never had friends.
Until now.
It takes two games for her to figure out how the game works, although that doesn’t keep her ball out of the gutter. Quinn takes to it naturally, landing two strikes in a row and winning the first two games. Owen, it seems, doesn’t really care. He’s true to his word. He just needed to get out of the building—have a little fun. After their intense experiment earlier in the day, she’s happy to see a genuine smile on his face.
She rolls the shiny red and pink-flecked ball down the lane and once again, it bounces into the gutter.
“What am I doing wrong?” she asks, standing over the ball return. The shoot rattles and spits her ball into the rack.
“Come here,” Owen says, picking up a different ball. This one is green, and he slips his narrow fingers into the holes. “I think you’re underestimating your strength. Try a heavier ball, and channel your power.”
She lines up on the small arrows engraved in the floor. His hands touch her waist and he pulls her over an inch. “There, focus on the center pin. And release with your wrist, not just your fingers.”
It all sounds like gibberish to Astrid, but she’s trained enough people to know the little things matter when mastering a skill.
Astrid pulls her arm back and then releases; the ball careens down the middle of the lane. The ball crashes into the pins, knocking over seven, and she jumps up and down and throws her arms around Owen.
The weight of his arms feels good and the pounding of his heart reassuring. She’s getting used to these men, their bodies and the way they feel. It’s good. A change from how things were before they entered her life. Owen lifts her off the ground and she spins, catching Quinn’s eye as he watches the two of them from the scoring table.
“Thanks,” she says to Owen, giving him a final squeeze. “You’re up.”
Owen walks to the ball rack and plucks out a black and silver ball. Astrid moves to sit next to Quinn in the curved, plastic bucket seat at the table.
“Nice frame,” he says, tallying up the score. He’s winning, of course. “Owen’s a good teacher.”
“He is,” she says, watching him set up his first attempt. “We’ve been spending some time together.”
“I noticed.”
She rests her hand on his thigh. “How do you feel about that? Really?”
“I think that we all have a bond—something deeper than a regular relationship. We’re special. Unique, and the first time I kissed you I knew it was something special.”
His response flusters her. “I don’t think you answered my question—about Owen.”
He places his hand on top of hers, linking their fingers together. “I think he’s trying to fit in and yeah, I think he likes you.”
“I like him,” she confesses. “And you.”
The sound of pins falling bounces down the lane and Quinn locks eyes with her. “Good. We’re a team, with people trying to kill us, an arsonist burning down the Swamp, and a supervillain I’m not sure is entirely stable. The last thing we need is some kind of weird love triangle distracting us.”
She laughs, because when he puts it like that he’s right. They’re three freaks trying to figure out how to survive and help their city. Beyond that, they need to just take care of themselves.
Owen walks up, smiling because of his strike—which now puts him in a slight lead over Quinn. Quinn hops out of the seat, vowing to take back the lead, and Astrid can’t help but laugh.
“What’s going on?” he asks, sliding into the seat.
“We were just talking about how happy we are to have you with us,” she says, leaning over and kissing his cheek. His eyes light up and he slings his arm around her shoulder. “And thanks for making us come out tonight. You were right, we needed it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Owen
The beer buzz wears off but the movie on the TV continues, and even if he wants to go to bed, Astrid is taking up half the couch.
Oh, so is that filthy cat.
He keeps an eye on Harry Styles, (seriously, who names their cat after a kid in a boy band?) who sits at the opposite end of the couch. Owen is pretty sure the cat doesn’t like him sitting this close to Astrid. And they are sitting close, so close that he finally has to say, “Is this okay?” gesturing to the fact she’s snuggled against his side.
“What?”
“The fact that we’re cuddling.”
Astrid draws her attention away from the TV and the takeout container of waffles in her lap. Harry continues licking his paw, in an attempt to pretend Owen doesn’t even exist. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
His eyes dart toward Quinn’s door. He’s not in there. He went down to the Lair soon after they returned from the bowling alley. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I don’t want to make things awkward. Or get kicked out. Or, more importantly, have him kick my ass. Because he would definitely win. So, tell me how you want to play this.”
Her body is warm against his. She’s still in the tight jeans from the bowling alley and the Elite hoodie she never takes off. That silly cat-ear hat is on her head and there’s little denial his body is reacting to hers. Definitely. Reacting.
“How do you want to play this?” she asks back.
She’s so pretty, gorgeous really, the kind that has no fucking clue how much. The truth comes spilling out. “I’ve done my best to keep my hands to myself all these weeks out of some sense of respect for you and Quinn, but damn, you’re making it impossibly difficult.”
She sits up, knocking the cat off the couch with her feet. He hisses in reply and limps off and she tosses the container of leftover syrup on the coffee table.
“Quinn and I have agreed that right now we need to take care of each other. Stay strong and focused.” She touches his hand, causing a shiver to run down his neck. “This is new for us—being around people we can trust. People I can touch. Right now is about building our team.”
He tucks his hand behind her neck. It’s warm from the hat. “So you’re saying if I kiss you right now, it’s for the betterment of the team?”
“I think we’d both benefit from it,” she says. “You know, blow off a little steam. Like bowling.”
Owen doesn’t fight the smile. “Right. Exactly like bowling.”
Astrid licks her lips and tilts her head. He pulls her to him, leaning forward to meet her mouth. Her lips taste like syrup and she smells like sugar, and there’s no doubt in his mind she can hear his heart racing against his chest. Her hand moves to his neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t realize how much he wanted this—wanted her, until right now.
She’s right, he thinks, pulling her onto his lap, trying not to grunt when she crushes his hard-on. He brushes her hair off her neck and presses his mouth against the smooth skin under her ear. There is a benefit to making out like this. A huge one, and he’s pretty sure that if kissing were really like bowling, he would have just rolled a strike.
Chapter Fourteen
Quinn
It’s past midnight when Quinn sits in front of the computer in the Lair. He left Owen and Astrid upstairs to do…well, whatever it is they’re going to. Their talk at the bowling alley was a little awkward—he won’t deny it--but it was also true. Right now is about figuring out life. He’s not the jealous type. Protective, yes. Jealous? No.