“Glad I can shift that character profile for you, Miss Laurens. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“I look forward to it, Doctor.”
“Dakota?” He caught her before she hung up.
“Yes?”
“It’s Walt. Not Walter . . . not Doctor. Just Walt.”
“Whatever you say . . .”
He waited, knew it was coming.
“Doctor.” And then she hung up.
Seduced by Pizza might be the title of her next book.
Pizza and bowling.
Did anyone bowl anymore?
“A woman prides herself on her shoes.” Dakota glanced at her two-inch heels that complemented her designer jeans and silk shirt.
Walt pushed dollar bills into a sock vending machine. “Bowling shoes are very retro.”
She reached into the machine, removed the plain white socks, and tapped them to his chest. “Good thing you’re cute.”
“C’mon.” He pulled her toward the lane he’d just paid for. “Nothing says successful first date like a little friendly competition.”
“What if I told you my average is two hundred?”
He stopped and she bumped into him. “You just grumbled about bowling.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not awesome at it.” She wasn’t. At least she hadn’t been when she last played. That had taken place in college, well over five years ago.
They stared each other down for about ten seconds and Dakota slipped, let a smile spread over her lips.
“You’re bluffing.”
She moved around him and set her purse on the table assigned to their lane.
“You’re so easy.”
He blew out a breath as she moved to the rack of house balls and picked out one that fit her hand and wasn’t so heavy she’d lose control and toss the thing behind her.
Walt disappeared long enough to get them a couple of drinks and order a pizza. A good ten lanes of the bowling alley were packed with a league of some sort. From the scores on the digital boards, the league was serious about their game.
She picked at the tiny laces that both had knots in them from the previous careless bowler who simply tugged the shoes off.
Bowling shoes really did have a lot to be desired, she told herself once they were laced and she rolled a small cuff at the bottom of her pants to avoid tripping.
The digital display started to flash their names when Walt returned with the drinks.
He wore a pullover shirt and jeans. He had sandy brown hair that looked like it would bleach out if he spent any time on the beach. She couldn’t decide if his eyes were a shade of blue green, or gold green. She settled on hazel. The question was, what triggered the color change?
Walt set the drinks on their small table. “Pizza in thirty minutes.”
“Everything but fish?”
He flashed a smile. “What one wants on their pizza is important.”
Dakota picked up her ball and stepped up to the lane. “Almost as important as what they drink.” She knocked down a whole two pins on her first throw.
“When was the last time you bowled?” he asked.
“College. You?”
“Couple years ago.”
Her ball rolled up and she knocked down another three before she let Walt take his turn.
His ball flew down the lane at what seemed like Mach speed, taking out eight pins. “I played a bit in medical school. I think it had something to do with cheap entertainment and late hours.”
A roar went up to their right where the league players were watching someone manage strike after strike.
“Were you ever on a league while in medical school?”
Walt tossed his second ball, missed both pins. “No time for anything at that point in my life.”
“But you wanted to.”
There was a slight hesitation and she inched past him to get her ball. “Anything other than golf.”
“Avoid the cliché?” The next ball knocked down a few more pins than the last. Maybe by their second game she’d break a hundred.
“Golf-playing doctors . . . not my thing.”
“Let me guess . . . your dad plays golf.”
His blue-gold eyes turned a little darker. “How did you know?”
“He’s a doctor, isn’t he?”
Was it her imagination, or did his ball actually crush the pins at the end of the lane?
“Lucky strike,” he said as he sat beside her.
She managed a sip of her drink. “He is, right?”
“Cardiologist. Took over my grandfather’s practice, built it up.”
Dakota leaned forward. “Was medicine a birthright or did you really want it?”
Walt twirled the ice in his drink. “I always wanted to be a doctor.”
There was something missing from his statement, she’d bet money on it. “But?”
“Cardiology just wasn’t for me. Emergency cases . . . fine. But day in and day out? Nawh . . . not me. Imagine going to school for ten years of your life to learn everything about how the engine on a car works and dedicating your life to the fuel pump when it was all over.”
“Fuel pumps are important.”
“They are. And eventually every one of them will need to be replaced or overhauled or the car doesn’t run. But there’s so much more to the car that keeps it running.”
“Emergency medicine or bust.”
He laughed. “You might say that.”
“I’ll bet your parents are proud.”