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Chapter Twelve: The Dates
"This is a terrible idea," Y/N said, staring at the bowling shoes Lucy was trying to hand her.
"Why is it a terrible idea?"
"Because bowling shoes are a crime against humanity. Look at them. They're hideous."
"They're functionally hideous."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"
"Because I will absolutely make you put on these shoes."
"I'd like to see you try."
Five minutes later, Y/N was sitting on a bench with Lucy kneeling in front of her, forcibly removing her boots.
"This is undignified," Y/N complained.
"This is your own fault for being difficult."
"I'm not being difficult. I'm being principled."
Lucy got one boot off and started on the other. "You know, for someone who claims to be mature and responsible, you're remarkably stubborn about stupid things."
"Bowling shoes aren't stupid things. They're important matters of personal dignity."
"All bowling shoes are ugly. That's part of the experience."
"Then the experience is flawed."
Lucy got the second boot off and held up the bowling shoes triumphantly. "Foot."
"I will sit here all night."
They stared at each other for a long moment, both refusing to budge. Finally, someone behind them cleared their throat.
"Are you two going to bowl or just argue about shoes?" a teenager asked, clearly waiting for their lane.
Y/N sighed and stuck out her foot. "Fine. But I'm doing this under protest."
"Your protest is noted." Lucy slipped the shoes on with a smug smile. "See? Not so bad."
"They're terrible and I hate them."
They made it to their lane—number two, which Lucy claimed was lucky—and Y/N had to admit the shoes were actually comfortable, even if they looked ridiculous.
"Okay," Lucy said, selecting a bowling ball. "What are we playing for?"
"Yeah. Stakes. Makes it more interesting."
"I thought we were just bowling for fun."
"Fun is for people who aren't competitive. We need stakes."
Lucy thought for a moment. "Loser has to cook dinner for a week."
"That's not fair. You're a good cook."
"Exactly. So you better win."
Lucy went first, strutting up to the lane with entirely too much confidence. She released the ball with perfect form, and it curved beautifully down the lane to hit the pins dead center.
"Show off," Y/N muttered.
"That's just skill, baby."
"Because we haven't established if that's an acceptable term of endearment."
"Noted. Would you prefer 'darling'? 'Sweetheart'? 'My beloved'?"
"Boring. Your turn, my beloved."
Y/N grabbed a ball and approached the lane. She'd bowled before—mostly at birthday parties as a kid—but it had been years. Still, how hard could it be?
She released the ball, and it immediately veered into the gutter.
"Gutter ball!" Lucy announced gleefully. "That's zero points."
Y/N's second ball knocked down six pins, which she considered a moral victory.
"Six pins. Not bad for someone who's 'warming up.'"
They continued like that for several frames, Lucy maintaining a comfortable lead while Y/N's balls had a disturbing tendency to find the gutter. By the fifth frame, Y/N was getting frustrated.
"This game is rigged," she announced.
"The lanes are uneven. My ball keeps curving."
"That's called physics, Y/N. And possibly poor technique."
"Your technique is sending balls into the gutter."
"That's the lane's fault."
On her next turn, Y/N was lining up her shot when she noticed Lucy standing directly in her line of sight, stretching with her arms above her head and Y/N's concentration wavered.
"What are you doing?" Y/N asked.
"Am I?" Lucy smiled innocently. "That's not intentional."
Y/N tried to focus on the pins, but Lucy was now leaning against the ball return, all casual confidence and visible abs. It was extremely distracting.
"Stop what? I'm just standing here."
"You're deliberately standing there to distract me."
"If you're distracted by me just existing, that sounds like a you problem."
Y/N threw the ball with more force than necessary. It curved beautifully down the lane and knocked down nine pins.
"Ha!" Y/N spun around triumphantly. "See? Not distracted."
"You left one pin standing."
"That's nine more than a gutter ball."
When Lucy's turn came around, Y/N decided two could play at that game. She positioned herself where Lucy couldn't help but see her and started doing "stretches" that were absolutely unnecessary for bowling.
"What are you doing?" Lucy asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
"I'm just existing. If that's distracting, that sounds like a you problem."
Lucy narrowed her eyes but said nothing. She lined up her shot, released the ball, and—
"What?" Lucy stared at the lane in shock. "That never happens."
"Guess you got distracted."
"You did that on purpose."
"Did what? I was just stretching."
"You were being deliberately distracting."
They spent the rest of the game trying to distract each other in increasingly ridiculous ways. Lucy would lean over to tie her shoe at strategic moments. Y/N would adjust her shirt collar just as Lucy was about to bowl. Lucy started making commentary about how the lighting made Y/N's eyes look particularly nice. Y/N countered by pointing out how Lucy's biceps looked great when she threw the ball.
By the final frame, they were neck and neck, both of them having bowled significantly worse than their first few frames.
"This is your fault," Lucy said. "I was winning before you started the distraction tactics."
"You started it with the stretching."
"That was legitimate stretching."
"It was strategic positioning."
Lucy bowled her final frame—eight pins, then a spare. Respectable, but not great.
Y/N needed nine pins to win. She picked up her ball, approached the lane, and released it with what she hoped was perfect form.
The ball curved down the lane and hit the pins dead center.
"Yes!" Y/N spun around with her arms in the air. "I win!"
"You got five gutter balls this game. That's not skill."
Lucy looked genuinely put out, which was adorable. "Best two out of three?"
"Nope. You said one game, stakes were one game. I win. You cook for a week."
"That's not fair. You cheated."
"I didn't cheat. I employed strategic distraction techniques."
"You keep saying that. I don't think you know what 'same thing' means."
Lucy crossed her arms, pouting. "You're very smug for someone who bowled five gutter balls."
"I'm very smug for someone who won despite bowling five gutter balls."
"Denied. Take your loss with grace."
"I don't have grace. I'm a sore loser."
Two days later, Lucy dragged Y/N to a mini-golf course.
"This will go better than bowling," Lucy announced.
"Because I'm excellent at mini-golf."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're probably excellent at everything and it's very annoying."
"You think I'm excellent?"
"I think you're an overachiever."
They paid for their round and grabbed putters. The course was themed like a jungle, complete with plastic animals and water features that were definitely health hazards.
"Same stakes as last time?" Lucy asked.
"You want to lose twice in one week?"
"I'm serious. I'm very good at mini-golf."
Lucy was, annoyingly, very good at mini-golf. She got a hole in one on the first hole, then another on the second. By the third hole, Y/N was getting concerned.
"How are you this good?" Y/N asked.
"Practice. I come here sometimes when I need to clear my head."
"You come to mini-golf to clear your head?"
Y/N managed to keep it close for the first few holes, but by the eighth hole—a particularly tricky one with a windmill—Lucy was ahead by six strokes.
"This is humiliating," Y/N said.
"I'm losing by six strokes."
"Could be seven strokes."
"I'm going to hit you with this putter."
On the ninth hole, Y/N noticed Lucy bending down to "check the green" directly in her line of sight. Her jeans were doing impressive things, and Y/N's putt went wide by at least two feet.
"Oops," Lucy said, not sounding sorry at all.
"You did that on purpose."
"Bent over. Right there. Where I could see."
"I was checking the slope of the green."
"There's no slope. It's artificial turf."
"Hmm. Must have miscalculated."
"That's definitely cheating."
When Y/N's turn came, she made sure to take her time lining up her shot, bending down to "check the angle" while Lucy watched. The position showed off exactly what she wanted it to show off.
"That's not fair," Lucy said.
"Doing what? I'm checking my angle."
"You're being deliberately distracting."
"If me checking my angle is distracting, that sounds like—"
They made it through the rest of the course trading distraction tactics and increasingly ridiculous accusations of cheating. Lucy claimed Y/N's putter was illegal. Y/N suggested Lucy was using professional-grade golf balls. Lucy accused Y/N of creating wind currents with her breathing.
In the end, Lucy won by three strokes.
"I played strategically."
"You literally used that excuse after bowling."
Lucy laughed and bumped Y/N's shoulder. "Sore loser."
"Good thing you're pretty."
"Good thing you're good at cooking."
"Wait, we didn't set stakes for this one."
"Oh. Right." Y/N thought about it. "Best two out of three?"
"What's the third competition?"
"I don't know. We'll figure something out."
The "something" ended up being football.
Lucy had suggested it casually—"Want to kick a ball around sometime?"—and Y/N had agreed before thinking about the implications.
Which were: Lucy was a professional footballer. One of the best players in the world. And Y/N hadn't played seriously in years.
This was going to be a disaster.
They met at a small field near Lucy's house on a Sunday morning. It was empty except for them, the grass slightly damp with dew.
"Ready to be humiliated?" Lucy asked, already juggling a ball.
"Ready to prove you wrong."
"I'm full of misplaced confidence."
"That's my favorite kind."
They started with just passing, Y/N's touch rusty but gradually improving. Lucy was taking it easy on her, Y/N could tell—passing gently, not using her full speed or skill.
"Stop going easy on me," Y/N said.
"I'm not going easy on you."
"Yes you are. Pass properly."
"Fine." Lucy's next pass came in hard and fast. Y/N trapped it cleanly, surprising both of them.
"I told you I used to play."
"You said you were decent."
They moved to one-on-one, taking turns trying to get past each other. Lucy was obviously better—her footwork was incredible, her touch perfect—but Y/N held her own better than expected.
"You're actually pretty good," Lucy said after Y/N managed to dispossess her.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I am surprised. Most people can't get the ball off me."
"Most people aren't as stubborn as me."
They continued playing, both of them getting more competitive. Lucy nutmegged Y/N twice, which was humiliating. Y/N managed to dribble past Lucy once, which felt like a major victory.
"Okay," Lucy said, breathing hard. "One more. If you can get past me and score, you win the overall competition."
"Then I win, and you have to admit I'm better at sports than you."
"Those weren't the original stakes."
"New stakes. Better stakes."
"What do I get if I win?"
"The satisfaction of beating a professional footballer."
"Fine. Dinner. Wherever you want. My treat."
"This time I'll pay without you arguing about it."
Y/N started at midfield, Lucy positioned defensively. This was stupid—Y/N knew she couldn't actually beat Lucy, not really—but she was going to try anyway.
She took off, moving the ball forward with quick touches. Lucy backpedaled, patient, clearly not worried.
Y/N feinted left, then went right. Lucy didn't bite. She tried a stepover. Lucy just smiled.
"You're going to have to do better than that," Lucy said.
Y/N tried another move—a fake shot that turned into a cut inside. Lucy was there immediately, blocking the angle.
Then Y/N did something she'd practiced as a kid—a quick elastico that sent the ball one way while her body went the other.
She was past Lucy, clear path to goal, and—
Arms wrapped around her waist and suddenly she was being pulled backward. She tried to stay on her feet but Lucy's momentum was too much. They went down together, Y/N landing on her back with Lucy on top of her.
They were both laughing, breathless from the run and the tackle.
"That was a foul," Y/N said.
"That was excellent defending."
"You literally dragged me to the ground."
"I stopped you from scoring."
"By any means necessary."
They were still lying on the grass, Lucy propped up on her elbows so she wasn't crushing Y/N completely. This close, Y/N could see the gold flecks in Lucy's eyes, could count the freckles across her nose.
"You're sweaty," Y/N observed.
Lucy grinned and kissed her, right there in the middle of the field. It was quick and sweet and tasted like grass and sweat and early morning.
"So who won?" Lucy asked.
"I stopped you from scoring."
"A draw means we both cook for a week."
"Or neither of us does and we order takeaway."
"I like that option better."
They lay there for a while longer, catching their breath and existing in the peaceful quiet of the empty field. Eventually, Lucy rolled off and helped Y/N to her feet.
"You really are pretty good," Lucy said. "That elastico was clean."
"Learned it from watching videos online."
"You should be. I watched a lot of videos."
"You're the one who made me go on dates with you."
Lucy paused. "Activities. That we do together. As two people who enjoy each other's company."
"That's the definition of a date."
"Fine. These might be dates."
"Was that so hard to admit?"
They walked back to Lucy's car, both of them muddy and sweaty and happy. This was nice, Y/N thought. These weird not-dates that were definitely dates. This undefined thing they were doing that felt more real than any relationship she'd had before.
"Want to come back to mine?" Lucy asked. "Shower and watch something?"
"Is this code for something?"
"It's code for 'I don't want today to end yet.'"
"Oh. Then yeah, I want to come back to yours."
Two days later, Lucy showed up at Y/N's practice at closing time with a bag of groceries.
"We're baking," she announced.
"Baking. It's like cooking but with more sugar."
"I know what baking is. Why are we doing it?"
"Because I want to, and you're going to help me."
"Neither do I. It'll be an adventure."
"An adventure in food poisoning."
They set up in Y/N's tiny kitchen, Lucy pulling out ingredients while Y/N watched with increasing concern.
"What are we making?" Y/N asked.
"Chocolate chip. Classic."
"Do you know how to make chocolate chip cookies?"
"I have a recipe on my phone. How hard can it be?"
It turned out baking was very different from cooking. Lucy, who could make perfect carbonara without a recipe, was completely lost when it came to measuring cups and precise temperatures.
"It says cream the butter and sugar," Lucy said, staring at the recipe. "What does that mean?"
"That's what I thought, but it seems too simple."
"Maybe it is that simple."
"Baking is never simple."
They attempted to cream the butter and sugar, which mostly involved making a mess and questioning their life choices.
"This looks wrong," Lucy said, peering into the bowl.
"What's it supposed to look like?"
"This is why I stick to cooking."
They somehow made it through combining the ingredients, though Lucy managed to get flour on her face, her shirt, and somehow in her hair.
"How did you get flour in your hair?" Y/N asked.
"I don't know. It's very mobile flour."
"Clearly it is. Look at me."
Y/N was looking. Lucy was covered in flour, her hair a mess, her expression one of intense concentration as she tried to form cookie dough balls. She looked ridiculous and adorable and Y/N wanted to kiss her.
"What was that for?" Lucy asked when they broke apart.
"You have flour on your nose."
"Seemed like the logical response."
They got the cookies in the oven and set a timer. Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen smelled amazing.
"See?" Lucy said proudly. "We're excellent bakers."
"We haven't tasted them yet."
The timer went off, and Lucy pulled the cookies out. They looked... acceptable. Maybe slightly overdone on the edges, but not burned.
"Let's try one," Lucy suggested.
They each grabbed a cookie and bit in simultaneously.
The cookies were terrible.
Not just bad—actively offensive. They were somehow both dry and undercooked, sweet but also weirdly salty, and had the texture of cardboard mixed with sand.
"Oh my god," Lucy said, immediately spitting hers into the sink. "What did we do wrong?"
"Everything. We did everything wrong."
Y/N tried to swallow her bite and immediately regretted it. "I think you might have mixed up the salt and sugar."
"I definitely measured correctly."
"I thought I did. But now I'm questioning everything."
They stared at the tray of terrible cookies, both of them trying not to laugh.
"Well," Y/N said finally. "At least we tried."
"We failed spectacularly."
"Yes. Failure is part of the learning process."
"Very philosophical for someone who just ate a terrible cookie."
"You're full of terrible cookie."
They ended up throwing out the entire batch and ordering pizza instead. As they sat on Y/N's couch eating significantly better food than they'd made, Lucy turned to her.
"I'm sorry the cookies were terrible," Lucy said.
"Eating cardboard was fun?"
"Watching you be bad at something was fun."
"You're good at everything else. It's nice to know you have a weakness."
"I have many weaknesses."
Y/N felt her face heat. "That's very smooth."
They finished their pizza while watching something mindless on TV, Lucy gradually migrating closer until she was practically in Y/N's lap.
"You're very cuddly," Y/N observed.
"Do you want me to move?"
"Good. Because I wasn't planning to."
They stayed like that for the rest of the evening, and Y/N thought about how much things had changed in just a few weeks. They'd gone from that explosive fight to this—easy domesticity, terrible baking attempts, competitions over mini-golf.
It was good. Better than good.
It was terrifying how much Y/N was starting to need this. To need Lucy.
But tonight, she wasn't going to think about that.
Tonight, she was just going to enjoy the fact that Lucy was here, warm and solid against her, and they'd made terrible cookies together like two people who maybe, possibly, were figuring out how to be happy together.
Even if they still hadn't defined what "together" meant.
Even if Y/N still woke up sometimes worried this was all too good to be true.
And Y/N was learning that sometimes, enough was actually pretty great.
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