Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 37

“I can’t believe you want to practice bowling,” West teases before taking a deep swig of his beer. “Usually, you look like you’d rather tie a brick around your ankle and jump off the dock.”

He’s not wrong about that part.

And I don’t especially want to practice bowling.

What I want to do is come clean with my best friend in a public place where there will be cameras. Just in case he tries to beat the shit out of me for spending all morning in the shower, scrubbing paint off his little sister.

Of course, we did more than scrub paint, and afterward, I felt like I was sneaking around. Hiding her.

I don’t want to feel that way with Rosie, and I don’t want Rosie to think she needs to be hidden.

“Just haven’t seen much of you lately,” I say. “Thought we’d hang out more once I moved here.”

West grins and props an elbow against the table while we wait for our lane to clear out. “It’s almost like we’re two grown-ass men with shit to do.”

I huff out a laugh. “True story.”

“I’m always extra busy this time of year. People bring their young horses up for starting. The kids are wrapping up at school. I think that’s why I look forward to Dads’ Night Out so much. I get one night every two weeks where I can kick back and be myself. Without marking it somehow, I think I’d just work and parent and do chores around the farm without stopping. Forces me to look up now and then, ya know?”

I take a sip of my beer and nod, considering his perspective. Somehow, I hadn’t thought of bowling nights that way. After all, I waltzed into town as a workaholic bachelor with no dependents.

But now that I’ve got multiple businesses on the go, an almost-teenager, and a maybe-relationship, I can see where he’s coming from. I can see life getting away from you. The fact I’ve barely seen him since Cora joined the family is proof of that.

“You know…” He scrubs at the stubble on his chin, flashing the tattoos on his knuckles. “If you really hate bowling, I can try to find someone to replace you. Starting to feel like this is a prison sentence for you. Maybe you just wanna bring a book and read at our table or something.”

I bark out a laugh. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

The look he gives me screams that he thinks I’m an idiot. “You pulled that shit all the time when we were younger. I didn’t give a shit then, wouldn’t give one now either. I know you and I are different. I’m cool, and you’re a huge dork. But it works.”

I roll my eyes. “West, you’re not that cool. And being friends with me is safe because if you had a friend who was too similar, I think that might trigger the apocalypse or some shit.”

His shoulders shake as he takes another drink. “Dude, I’m getting old. My wild streak is bowling and staying up late enough to watch Saturday Night Live.”

“We both know you just watch the Skylar Stone episode on repeat.”

He reaches across and punches my arm playfully in response.

I know I’m putting off telling him what I came here to say. I just don’t know how to segue into the conversation. I’m not asking for his permission—I’m just trying not to blindside the guy after decades of friendship.

I don’t excel at subtle conversations.

I rub my thumb up and down the chilled pint glass, gathering the courage to spit it out. “So, speaking of the apocalypse…” I peek at him from the corner of my eye. He’s watching me, but I keep my gaze plastered forward on the lanes, trying to act casual. I take a deep gulp of my cloudy IPA before spitting it out. “I’m in love with your sister.”

West doesn’t move, but I see him nodding, tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

The silence between us stretches out. One beat. Two.

The loud thump of balls hitting the lanes and the crashing sound of pins falling a few seconds later tell me West has been staring at me for far too long.

My stomach sinks, and my cheeks heat. I finally turn my head, and I can’t quite read his expression. It’s hard to say with West. I’ve seen him smile and crack a joke before driving his fist into someone’s face.

“Listen—”

He cuts me off, and I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it definitely wasn’t, “Yeah, I know. I’ve met you before.”

I rear back as my brows knit together. “What?”

“Like I just said, you’re a huge dork. And Rosie is an oblivious hurricane. You might be the only two people in the world who didn’t already know this.”

If I weren’t focusing on keeping my jaw clamped shut, it would hang open.

I prepared myself for him to say a lot of things, but this… this was not one of them.

“I think we might be a thing.” Wow, that sounds really dumb.

West snorts a laugh, and I feel like he’s laughing at me more than with me.

“Dude, if you don’t get off your ass and properly date her, I’m going to pitch you to Forbes as the World’s Dumbest Billionaire. After everything you’ve gone and done for that girl? Come on.”

I blink. And I blink again. I thought I was going to be the one blindsiding him. “You really flipped this shit around.”

West gives me his best unhinged smile, thumping a fist against his cupped palm. “Did you think I was going to break your pretty face, Ford?”

“I…” I scrub my hands through my hair, my elevated heart rate slowing now that I’ve gotten this off my chest and cleared the air. “Honestly, man, I didn’t know. You’re kind of unpredictable.”

He sips. He nods. I can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Nah. The only person more protective of her than me might be you. However, I have a couple of requirements.”

My head falls back, and I look up at the ceiling, ready to get the third degree. Which is why I laugh when he says, “First, you’re going to stay on the bowling team. And when I get team shirts made, you will wear yours with a smile.”

I chuckle. “Fine. But not the smiling part.”

West waves me off. “Second, you will help me come up with a sweet name for the team so we can start kicking Stretch’s ass.”

I groan and laugh into my palm. The relief of getting this over with has me feeling borderline giddy. “Fine. All you had to do was bring up kicking that guy’s ass, and you’d have had me.”

“Okay, so I’m just going to toss some ideas and you can say yes or no.”

“You already have ideas?”

West stands and paces. He never was a sit-still kind of guy. “Dude, I’m a lonely bachelor. I have to do something after the kids go to bed.”

“Looks like you used up all your game when you were younger.”

His mouth pops open. “Okay. Now I’ll hit you.”

I make a rolling motion with my hand, thrilled that there’s no awkwardness between us. No damage to our friendship.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, a little too excited to be having this conversation with me. “The Bowling Stones,” he spits out, followed by a dramatic pause.

“No.”

“What! Really? I thought you’d love that one.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Okay. What about… 4 Guys 12 Balls.”

“Fuck no,” a dry voice grumbles from behind me. I turn to see Bash, beer in hand, pulling up a stool at our high-top table.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Got back yesterday. West called today for a practice. Figured, why the hell not?”

I spin on West. “I didn’t know other people were coming to our practice.”

West shrugs, brushing me off. “I wasn’t expecting this to be the moment you declared your love for my sister.”

“Rosie?” Bash’s brow furrows, and I prop my elbows on the table, dropping my head into my hands. “Explains why you fired Scotty. That kid thinks with his dick,” Bash mumbles before taking a deep swig.

“Okay, enough about Rosie. Back to team names.”

I ignore West. “Bash, are you going to wear a team shirt?” He shrugs, face impassive. “Sure. I don’t care. Not concerned about how I look in a magazine. Would rather beat Stretch.”

God. I’m so petty. I swear all anyone has to do is mention beating Stretch, and I totally pivot.

“Okay.” West holds his hands up like he has something amazing to announce. “Here’s another one. Bowls Deep.”

“No,” I say, right as Bash quirks a brow and asks, “How old are you?”

“Okay, fine. Gutter Gang?”

“That makes it sound like you’re all a bunch of rats that live in the sewer,” a feminine voice cuts in.

When I turn, I come face-to-face with the woman who’s always at the town bistro where I buy Rosie her tea.

“Tabby!” West lifts his hands up in greeting.

The name rings a bell. She looks familiar, and I suspect I should remember her from summers spent here as a kid. But it’s her hand, wrapped tight around a mountain of a man’s bicep, that draws my attention.

“Overheard your phone conversation earlier, West. You need a fourth for your team?”

West glances back at us. “Oh yeah, forgot to mention that Crazy Clyde is in the hospital. Kidney issues. Had to go check on him. Assure him they weren’t making up his diagnosis just to harvest his organs.”

Bash grumbles and shifts in his seat. “Who the fuck would want Clyde’s organs?”

“Right. Well, here. This is Rhys. Take him.” The tiny woman shoves the man forward like he’s nothing, even though he’s got at least an inch or two on me and is built like a football player.

He’s on the scruffy side, with long, dark hair and a beard.

But it’s his eyes that are the darkest. I’m not easily intimidated, but if I was going to be intimidated by someone, it might be him.

West clearly suffers from no such feelings. “You’re one big bitch, aren’t ya?” he says as he claps the guy on the shoulder. “You can say that again.” Tabby scowls at the guy’s back, and he stiffens at her words, though he doesn’t turn to face her.

“You ever bowled before?” West carries on.

“No,” the guy grits out, clearly annoyed by the situation.

“You a dad? We can always get you a cat or something if you’re not. Then it will still count as Dads’ Night Out.”

“You’re going to make this guy a cat-dad?” Even Bash sounds floored by West’s confidence.

“Not a big cat guy,” the guy responds. “And I’m not really a dad either.”

Tabby barks out a laugh. “Rich.” Then she turns on West. “He is a dad, whether or not he wants to admit it. And for what it’s worth, I think you should name your team the Man Children.”

With that, she spins on her heel and marches out of the bowling alley.

“You’re a real ball-buster, Tabby. I appreciate that about you!” West calls back to her as she leaves.

She flips him the finger over her shoulder.

And that’s when Bash chuckles to himself over the rim of his pint glass. “There it is.”

“There what is?” West asks as he turns to face us. The “big bitch” is still just standing there like a pissed-off mountain.

Bash shakes his head. “The team name.”

I watch West process, moving his lips silently, trying it on for size before breaking out in a grin. “Hell yeah, boys. Welcome to The Ball Busters!” He claps once. “Let’s get practicing. This is gonna be an every-other-week thing. Get us in fighting form. Bust Stretch’s balls.”

I straighten and scoff. “I’m not practicing every other week. That amounts to bowling weekly.”

West’s lips pull back and he hisses like he’s about to break some bad news to me. “Oof. Sorry. It was the last requirement to date my baby sister.”

Bash shakes his head and turns toward our now-empty lane, waving our new angry teammate along. “Let’s go, new guy.”

When I pick my beer up to follow, I glance at my best friend. He looks so excited that it’s damn near impossible to be annoyed.

He claps me on the shoulder as we follow the others to the floor and tips his head toward me as he drops his voice to say, “I’m so fucking happy for the two of you.”