Chapter 147 The Worst Pizza Is Actually The Best

Chapter 147 The Worst Pizza Is Actually The Best
BENEDICT

Claire was an amazing mate, Benedict thought to himself as he took a bite of the pizza she’d bought from the canteen while he’d been focused on bowling. Two slices for him and one for herself.

The cheese slid off every time he picked it up and the grease had pooled on the paper plate, a sure sign his arteries would be clogged by tomorrow. Needless to say, it was the best damn pizza he’d ever eaten.

True to her word, Claire continued to bowl by squatting at the edge of the lane, using both hands to roll the ball forward. The problem now was how good she’d gotten since the first frame.

They were eight frames in and she may not have scored a strike but she always knocked all ten pins down by the third throw — no matter which pins were left; it felt like a bit more than beginner’s luck. Was it possible she was cheating? And did Benedict care enough to ask? He had a solid lead, points wise, but whether he won or not didn’t feel important. As long as his mate was having a good time — which she seemed to be — nothing else mattered.

“Your turn, Ben,” Claire told him as she came over and flopped into the chair next to him. Whenever she said ‘Ben’ a jolt rushed through Benedict and brought a grin to his face. It was such a stupid little thing; how could it make him so happy?

“I’m finishing this first,” he told her after swallowing the food in his mouth.

“It’s pretty good, isn’t it? For bowling alley pizza, anyway,” she nodded, reaching for what was left of her own slice. “Who knew.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

It was hard for the wolf to understand how this ended up being a way better date than what he’d spent time and energy trying to plan in an attempt to impress his mate. Taking another bite, Benedict wondered if he might have been overthinking the entire thing. Claire had pointed out that, as mates, they should be compatible from the start; that meant if it was something he liked, she should too — or be open to giving it a shot. Maybe he should think about sharing what he liked with her, instead of trying to guess what she’d like to do.

What was something he did for fun that he could do with his mate? Would it be alright if he planned a date around something he’d been wanting to do? Or to experience for the first time with Claire by his side? That should work, shouldn’t it? He’d be thrilled if she did that for him anyway, so the reverse should also be true.

“You’re thinking deep thoughts, aren’t you.” Claire’s tone wasn’t reproachful but instead held a hint of laughter .

“Oh, uh, sorry. Guess I got lost in thought.”

“It’s fine. Want to share with the class?,” she asked before taking a large bite of her pizza.

Benedict watched her for a moment, debating whether to float the idea by her to see if she’d be open to what he’d been thinking; at the same time, he also wanted it to be a bit of a surprise, something she wouldn’t expect. “I will. Eventually.”

Her chewing slowed for a moment as she gave a soft laugh. “Okay. As long as it’s eventually. I guess.”

One of the things he was loving about his mate was how she didn’t hound him when he didn’t want to share something. She accepted it — poked it a bit — but let it go. It gave him room to breathe a little, to joke and tease without worry she might get angry.

His mate was perfect. She was so easy to be around, easy to talk to and share a good laugh with. Even when he screwed up she found something to smile about — after explaining where he’d gone wrong and nudging him towards a fix.

All this did was make him want to make Claire his all the more but he firmly stomped that feeling down. That would do the exact opposite. She would definitely run for the hills — Beatrice — and his life would be over; figuratively and literally.

“Now you look troubled,” Claire told him with a frown. “You should stop trying to think deep thoughts if they’re just going to bother you.”

“It’s just…” Benedict wasn’t sure where to go, where he’d wanted to go, with that sentence. Part of him wanted to share his worries with his mate but another part was warning him that she might not want that sort of thing thrown at her just yet. “Never mind.”

“Uh huh. Well, you finished your slice, so go bowl your frame.” Claire made a shooing motion at him, as if to hurry him along.

Doing as he was told, Benedict proceeded to leave two pins up after his allotted throws. He let out a small sigh. Things had been going well and now he was off his game because of one tiny, little worry that’d somehow wormed itself into his brain in the span of a split second.

“Keep bowling like that and I’m gonna win,” his mate called out, glee in her voice as she let out an alluring cackled.

“You couldn’t win even if you bowled these last two frames perfectly,” he shot back with a smirk, causing Claire to huff and scowl.

“You say that but I have my ways.”

That sounded like a threat but Benedict couldn’t help being intrigued. “Well now I want to see how you think you’ll manage it. Please show me, oh great bowler.” He gave her a mock bow and stepped aside as Claire laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Mm’kay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What happened next was definitely cheating — there was no way it wasn’t — but Benedict was too impressed to say anything about it. The moment the ball she’d rolled — still from a squat — hit its first pin the air pressure in the building changed for a split second. Every last pin in all the lanes fell over, as if a force had pushed out from the ball she’d rolled.

Yep. That was definitely cheating.

“So how many points is that?”

“Only our lane counts, not the others,” Benedict informed her with a chuckle as all the other bowlers were vocally complaining about their pins falling over for no apparent reason. “So that’s your first strike, meaning ten points and an extra couple throws.”

Claire scowled. “But I knocked down way more than ten pins; they should all count.”

Benedict raised his hands in a shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”

“True, but you already broke them by giving me a third shot every frame. So how is this any worse?”

Could he argue semantics? That the two things were completely different and thus shouldn’t even be talked about in the same argument? He could… but didn’t want to. “What do I get to look the other way?,” he asked, a grin finding its way onto his face.