1986: Why Can't This Be Love (Love in the 80s #7) Read Online Free Page A

least?”
    Dylan tensed.
    I slipped past him, edging into the bowling alley, my wide eyes taking them in.
    “You need this job,” the man pointed out. “Unless you want to end up a loser like the dickhead your mother’s dating.”
    “Uncle Philip ...” Dylan warned, lips thinning.
    “She never had much sense, your mother,” Philip continued, head shaking. “Just get back to work. You’ve got a couple hours left, and then you can go out.” Philip glanced at me, giving me a quick once over, brows rising. “You’re out of his league, miss. Trust me when I say girls like you don’t want to get tangled up with guys like him.” With that, he trudged away, his words ringing in my ears.
    Dylan scowled, and even though he turned his face away, he wasn’t quick enough to hide the flash of hurt and simmering anger in his eyes.
    Pride was a terrible thing. It was a funny thing, too. Corey Sanders, the bouncer and man of my dreams I believed to be an angel, had damaged my pride. It was the devil, the boy I was being warned to stay away from, who’d handed my pride back to me. Maybe not intact, but a lot less battered.
    Hesitating, I reached for Dylan, chickening out before I could touch him, my hands falling back to my sides. “Are you okay?”
    He glared at me. “You heard him. For your own good, stay away from me.” Fists clenched, he brushed past me.
    I couldn’t let it go. Not now. Not after he’d helped me.
    “He must think I’m a richie, huh? I’m not, you know. I mean, my family’s not poor or anything, but we’re not rich either.”
    Dylan paused, his back to me, slumped shoulders full of tension. “You think he’s talking about social class?” He laughed. “Babe, you don’t know anything about me. For all you know, I could have spent the past year in jail.”
    “Did you?” I asked.
    He stiffened, head high.
    I forgot how to blink, my round eyes burning a hole through his back. “Oh my God! You did, didn’t you? You totally did!”
    “No,” he grunted, spinning to face me, “but it’s an easy assumption, right?”
    Something inside me broke. Maybe it was compassion or maybe it was the way my stomach fluttered when I looked at him, but I suddenly knew I wasn’t going to leave.
    Dropping my gaze, I mumbled, “I want to stay.” And then rushed to add, “Just for a little while.” In case he got any ideas.
    Gathering up the courage to look at him, I glanced up and found him grinning.
    “Really?” he asked. “You want to stay?”
    “Yeah.”
    His gaze shot up, settling on a large, round wall clock behind the shoe counter. “You got a curfew?”
    “Midnight.”
    “Like Cinderella,” he murmured, studying the time. It was half past nine. “I still need to fix that photo booth,” he hedged, his gaze lighting up.
    The silent implication forced a nervous chuckle out of me, and I redirected with, “Do you bowl?”
    Laughter filled his eyes. “My uncle owns a bowling alley. I’m a mad bowler.” Coming toe-to-toe with me, he peered down into my face. “And you’re playing it safe.”
    I didn’t deny it, the blood rushing to my face, heart racing.
    “Come on.” He winked. “Let's play.”

“Oh once in your life you find someone
    Who will turn your world around
    Bring you up when you’re feeling down…”
    ~“Heaven” by Bryan Adams~
    L et’s be honest , I was a terrible bowler. Which sucked, because Dylan hadn’t been lying about his mad skills. For every strike he threw, I threw a gutter ball.
    It was a long game because Dylan kept leaving me, getting shoes for people coming in or checking a lane when something got jammed. His uncle stalked the place, his gaze boring into me with each pass.
    “He’s really buggin’,” I hissed, my gaze finding Dylan.
    Walking a ball to the lane, he lined up the shot, and released. All but two pins went down, and he got those with the second shot. I gave up trying to win.
    Dylan’s gaze swept the place, locating his uncle. “He’s