But Chester has never really learned a skill for fun before. He’s always had to be as perfect as possible in the Sanctum, always had to triple-check everything, always had to make sure he never let his guard down?—
The idea of having a place where failing is not only allowed, but almostencouraged,feels weirdly affirming. “Okay,” he says eventually, giving Obie a small smile. Taking a deep breath, he steps forward, squints towards the pins, throws the ball as hard as he can?—
It only gets halfway down the lane before rolling into the gutter. Sasha and Trevor both cheer. “Baby’s first gutter ball!” Sasha says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing. “I’m so proud.”
“Perfectmiss, my dude,” Trevor says emphatically, and he peers towards the Nack Bar like a dog that’s just spotted a squirrel. “In fact, I think we should celebrate. Who wants food?”
“Is that even a question?” Obie asks, digging a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. Trevor looks like he’s about to protest, but at Obie’s raised eyebrows, he eventually takes the money.
Chester fights back a grin. Watching Obie unapologetically take care of his friends—and his tenants, and the whole bowling alley—is honestly kind of adorable.
“I’ll come with you,” Sasha volunteers. “To carry the drinks. Kyle, take our turns for us, would you?”
“I—” Chester gapes after them as they stride away without a backwards glance. “Okay! Sure! I’ll just lose theentire gamefor you!”
They don’t pay him the slightest bit of attention. Sighing, Chester turns back to Obie. “Should we wait for them?”
Obie scrutinizes the twins’ retreating backs before shaking his head. “No, let’s keep going,” he says, picking up another ball for Chester. “Here. This time, I want you to concentrate on following through—don’t just let go of the ball and immediately drop your form.”
The words spark a memory from a few weeks ago. “Like with archery?”
“Exactly.” Obie nods at the lane. “Try it out.”
“If you insist.” Chester narrows his eyes at the pins, takes a step forward, lets the ball fall from his fingers?—
This time, he manages to knock down two pins. He fist-pumps, unreasonably pleased with himself. “Hell yeah!”
Obie grins back. It’s a type of smile that Chester doesn’t think he’s seen before, something torn between amused and fond, and for a split second, Chester forgets that Obie is a demon god who’s only teaching him how to bowl because they’re pretending to date.
Instead, it’s like they’re just having fun together.
“Better,” Obie says, grabbing another ball. “Now, I want you to focus on keeping your hips square with the lane—don’t let your body twist so much.”
Chester squints back at him as the pinsetter resets the pins. “Keep my hips square? What does that even mean?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” Without warning, Obie is standing close in front of Chester, his hands settling on either side of Chester’s waist. Chester almost jumps at the sudden contact. “For the past two turns,you moved your body likethisas you threw the ball,” he says, pressing his thumbs into Chester’s hips to guide them the slightest bit sideways. “Instead, I want you to focus on keeping your body straight, like…” He tightens his fingers on Chester’s waist, tugging him around to face forward again. “Like this.”
Chester’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. Obie obviously isn’t trying to be flirty, but somehow, there’s something about the demonstration that feels far too intimate for public.
Far too intimate for Chester to be sharing with the man he’s spellbound to. And, Chester realizes with a jolt, this might just be the first time Obie has really touched him without an audience watching. Sure, Obie will put a hand on Chester’s shoulder to communicate telepathically, and there was that one memorable lap-sitting incident in the Courtyard, but besides that?—
Besides that, Obie has never settled his hands on Chester’s waist and leaned in close before. Chester is distressed to realize that he kind of likes it. “All right,” he says hoarsely, wincing at how breathless his voice sounds. “I’ll, um, give it a shot.”
Obie’s expression shifts. Abruptly, he snatches his hands away, leaving Chester’s skin cold where Obie’s palms were warm against it. “Yeah, try it out,” he says gruffly, stepping away. “See if it helps.”
Taking a deep breath, Chester focuses his gaze down the lane. Ten pins, one ball. Hips square, follow through. He can do this. Hecando this.
And, even if he can’t, the team will cheer him on anyway. Obie won’t be upset. None of them will care that he’s bringing their average down. That, more than anything else, is what lets Chester’s shoulders relax as he strides forward, lets the ball slide off his fingers, concentrates on his form?—
The ball whizzes down the center of the lane, slams into the pins,and knocks all ten of them down. Delighted, Chester thrusts his fists in the air.“Home run!”
Obie buries his face in his hands.“Strike,puppy. It’s called a ‘strike.’”
“Field goal!” Chester insists, disproportionately elated at the tiny win. “Slam dunk! Knockout! Grand slam!”
“All right, now you’re just embarrassing us,” Obie says, and unexpectedly, he pulls Chester into a hug.
Chester’s brain short-circuits. Obie’s arms are firm around Chester’s torso and his hands are steady where they’re splayed across Chester’s back, and his body is so solid and sowarm?—
