I mean, Finn has to realize this. Ew. Does he? Is that why she’s looking at me as if someone told her I stole all of her Gucci. To test the theory, I place my hand on Finn’s thigh.
Double daggers. Oh my God. Surely not?
“And what do you do, Jacqueline?” I ask. Because, I know nothing about these people, other than what I’ve gleaned from being here in the last hour—they’re as healthy as Finn based on the walnut salad for dinner with no dressing. Or, as Phineas called it, a “naked” salad.
“She looks pretty all day,” Phineas says. “That’s her job.”
Instead of throwing her wine at him, she bats her long lashes and gives him a coy smile. “Thank you, honey.”
Phineas rests his shoulder against the marble mantle. “Finn mentioned you work out at SuperFit. How do you like it?”
“It’s good,” I lie. “Finn is a great trainer.”
“Glad to hear that. I own them.” Wait, what?
“You own SuperFit?”
“Yep. Two hundred gyms across the country. Finn will take over when I retire.” He flexes his bicep. “That might be a while, though.”
When I glance over at Finn, his hooded gaze gives nothing away. That’s a big deal he didn’t mention it. We’ve only worked out there a bazillion times.
“So, you’re just kind of working there to be like an undercover boss?” I ask Finn.
“Something like that,” he says. “Have to pay my dues.”
Phineas pushes off the mantle. “Why don’t we burn off that dinner? We have a bowling alley in the basement.” He crosses to me and holds out his hand. “Let’s have a tournament and see if you’re a SuperFit girl, Chloe.”
This feels like a challenge, of sorts. I really don’t want to take his hand or be a SuperFit girl. But what choice do I have?
“Is bowling really going to show you what kind of girl I am?” I hesitate to even ask.
“Bowling requires strength and agility. It requires focus. It’s both mental and physical. Playing the beautiful game will absolutely show us what kind of girl you are.”
I can’t wait to disappoint.
With my hand tucked in his arm, I’m led out of the living room and down a wide hallway full of framed pictures of the family at various stages of their life. A toothless Finn grins at me from atop a mountain peak as we pass, and I’d rather spend time here, studying the photos, but that’s not going to happen.
At the end of the corridor, we stop at a set of double doors. Phineas pushes a button and they slide open.
“You have an elevator?”
“Had it installed last year. It’s a real time saver.”
Funny people who are so fitness-oriented didn’t choose the stairs for the single flight down. But that’s not my business. I free my hand and scoot next to Finn in the corner, trying to get some cover from Jacqueline’s eyeball-stabbing as we descend.
After a few seconds, we step out into an enormous room with two bowling lanes at the edge of the glossy hardwoods. It’s a totally professional setup, complete with flat screen monitors overhead to keep score and neon blue gutters. Plump leather seating flanks the area.
“Wow, this is amazing.”
“Thank you,” Phineas says, walking toward a wall of shoes. “What size are you? We keep one of every size on hand.”
“Seven.”
While we lace up, I try to come up with a reason to get out of here. I just want to go home, because truly I don’t need to burn off that salad. There was no dressing, for fuck’s sake. These people are rich, you can’t offer a girl some ranch?
Finn dispels my hopes of escaping. “Listen, we need to win.” He squats in front of my chair. “Got me?”
“Um, okay? I’ll try my best.”
“No. No trying. We need to win this.” He glances over his shoulder to where Jacqueline is sharpening her knives. “She’s good. But you need to be better.”
“Okay, well...I haven’t bowled since eighth grade, so....” It’s not like I’m in a league or something and keep my skills up to date. And why must everything be a competition?
“Ready?” Phineas calls.
Not at all, but lucky for me, I go last.
Jacqueline and her special diamond-encrusted bowling shoes make a strike on her first attempt. So does Phineas.
And Finn.
No pressure.
I select my ball, bring it up balanced in both hands, and focus on the pins. When bowling originated, Germans believed knocking down wooden shaped pins would pardon their sins. I’m not certain this crowd would appreciate that nugget of information, so I keep it to myself and hope for a strike so my indiscretions will be forgiven. Because karma is really kicking my ass with this torture.
As I shuffle forward on the slick floor and swing my arm back, Phineas says, “Yeah, let’s see if you’re a stroker.”
His words ruin my aim, and I release...straight into the gutter.
“Fuck,” Finn mutters.
“Sorry,” I say, walking over to him. “Isn’t it about having fun and not whether you win or lose?”
“No,” he answers. “Only losers say that. We need to win.”
I tilt my head, wondering why this is so important and resisting the urge to tell him to blame his father for my performance.
“Uh-oh,” Jacqueline says, with faux concern. “Looks like someone isn’t happy.”
She looks very pleased by that. I’m no conspiracy theorist, but this is a very strange dynamic between her and Finn. I stand on tiptoes and give Finn a brush of my lips.
Whoosh. Daggers.
Unbelievable.
The game continues, with Finn mumbling curse words at my performance, until we finally lose.
“Good game,” Phineas says. “Sorry, son.”
“Yeah, me too,” Finn drawls.
“We’ll head upstairs and give you some privacy,” Jacqueline says. “Take care, Chloe.”
My brow pulls tighter than my vagina. “What’s going on?” I ask Finn as they step into the elevator.
“Listen”—his warm hand slips down my arm—“it’s not you…well, it kind of is…but it’s not going to work out.”
“What do you mean?”
Am I being dumped? After all that? He’s dumping me?
“I thought you could
