“IT’S A SPARE! I won!”

“No, you didn’t. You stepped over the line!”

“Did not! I won, fair and square.”

“Darcy!”

Anyone listening would probably think I was chaperoning a group of children, but no, it was the Wednesday night bowling league from the Hampton Acres Retirement Center.

“She cheated! She stepped over the line. She has to do it over,” Mrs. Rogan said, shooting an evil eye at the retreating form of Mrs. Blackwell. Who knew a seventy-nine-year old could walk with such a swagger?

I looked at the electronic scoreboard above the lanes. The game had already been cleared out of the system. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rogan. That was the last game of the evening. You’ll win next week.”

The gray-haired great-grandmother was still sullen. “It’s not fair. I would’ve won if her spare hadn’t counted.” She sat down and began slowly unlacing her bowling shoes. When she glanced up, she had a resigned look on her face. “I know it must seem dumb to a young woman like you, but I look forward to bowling all week.”

I smiled at her as kindly as I could. When I was her age, I hoped I’d be as passionate about my interests. “I’ll make it up to you. How about you sit up front on the ride home?”

“Up front?” she said, puzzled. Then the faintest of blushes crossed her face. “Oh. You mean … next to John.” I could see the beginning of a smile. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

* * *

I watched the last of the bowlers head inside the retirement center. I’d only been on the job for five weeks, but already I knew that nearly all of the residents would be on their best behavior when John was around. Perhaps that was because John was a good-looking, single man in his early seventies, and nine out of ten residents were female.

I walked around to other side of the large blue shuttle. John leaned out the window as the engine idled.

“Hot date tonight, Darcy?” John seemed to think a twenty-five-year old like myself should have an exciting love life.

“Not tonight.”

“Then you should get out there, go find someone. You’re the Assistant Director. You don’t have to come to the evening activities. You’re supposed to leave at eight.”

“I know. But I like getting to know the residents. And I want to attend all of the social activities at least once.”

“Okay, but then you have to find yourself a hot date.”

“No, then I have to find an apartment. Then a hot date.”

We said goodnight, but as I made my way to my car, I wondered if that was truly the order in which I wanted those two things to happen.

* * *

On the short drive to the Resident Inn, my temporary home of five weeks, I vowed to go straight to my room, fire up my laptop, and search apartment listings. The situation was getting a little desperate. My new employer was only going to be footing the bill for my stay for another week. Since I worked from noon to eight, that meant that in theory, I should’ve had plenty of time to apartment hunt in the morning. In actuality, I usually ended up staying up late and getting up later than I meant to.

So, straight to my room without passing go. But, of course, passing go wasn’t the problem. Passing the front desk, and not stopping to chat or to flirt, was the real problem.

To avoid temptation, I parked in the back lot. That way, I could use the side door and avoid the front desk altogether. But his ancient silver Honda was a few rows over. My pulse quickened, knowing I’d see him soon. Even if my willpower held, it was inevitable. The door to my room was within sight of the reception area.

A few feet from my room, I paused. He was checking in some guests, which meant I could admire his tall form and lazily tousled brown hair without being distracted by his blue eyes on mine. Even from this distance, he looked damn good in his white button-down shirt. It was clear that the business woman he was handing a keycard to thought he was pretty fine looking, too.

I took out my own keycard and stepped to my door, but I wasn’t fast enough. He looked up and gave a quick wave. And that sexy smile—the smile that made my pulse speed up and heat spread through my body. Dammit, I probably wasn’t going to be looking at any apartment listings tonight. Good thing I had one viewing already lined up for tomorrow morning.

It was a relief to free my long chestnut hair from the updo I’d worn to work. I toed off my heels and changed into jeans. Tight jeans, truth be told. And a sleeveless blouse that had a fairly deep v-neck. We’re just friends, but he always looked good, so why shouldn’t I? Besides, though I liked being Ms. Squires, the friendly but efficient new Assistant Director, I also liked this more fun, flirty version of myself.

I poked my head out into the hallway. The front desk was empty except for Luke Larson, the smart, fun, and friendly guy I’d met the very first day I’d arrived in town over a month ago. I tucked my keycard in my back pocket and headed over.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.”

“Thank god,” he said. “I saw some senior citizens congregating around the pool, and I wanted a professional here in case they got out of hand.” That was pretty funny, especially since I only knew of one older person staying here, kindly Mrs. Townsend. “How was your day?” he asked.

“We almost had a bowling-related riot.”

“Never a dull moment at Happy Acorns.”

“Hampton Acres,” I corrected, for quite possibly the twentieth time. “How’s your shift going? Any barracuda sightings?”

“She stayed until six.” Luke shook his head and leaned his hands on the tall counter that served as a front desk. He started at four, so that meant he’d had to endure the hotel manager, a.k.a. Barbara the Barracuda, for two hours.

Having met the woman, I sympathized, but still, I had to tease him about it. What were friends for? “Did she give you a hard time?” I made my voice as suggestive as possible.

“Very funny. She certainly tried to. Kept brushing against my ass every chance she got.”

“Really classy boss you’ve got there,” I said, but I was sorry I’d brought the subject up. I didn’t like thinking of that horrible woman throwing herself at Luke. He was twenty-seven, two years older than me. She was at least ten years older than him and married.

“How was school?” I asked. He took classes at a nearby community college during the day. He was majoring in Hotel and Restaurant Management. Working here gave him real world experience—both good and bad.

“Okay. I’m already getting nervous about a big test in Sanitation and Safety.” He paused a minute as the phone behind the counter lit up. He handled the call from a guest efficiently and effectively. He really was a great guy, but I’d been burned by this sort of thing in the past. My last serious boyfriend had been in graduate school back in Ohio. Alan and I had been best friends during our first year of studies. Then we started dating, and it went great for about eight months. When he abruptly fell out of love with me, I’d lost a best friend and a boyfriend. Since that time, I’d been really careful not to risk losing a friend by trying for something more. Luke was the first one in a long time to make me question that policy.

He finished his call and looked up to catch me watching him. Dammit. I felt my cheeks flush. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

“No. Got any ideas?”

“Oh, I’ve definitely got ideas.”

I took a quick breath at the change in his tone. In the last week or so, he’d been saying more things like that. Right now, he was looking at me so intently with those denim-blue eyes. But then he blinked and flashed a half-smile. When he spoke, he sounded normal again. “I think it’s your turn to choose.”

Luke knew all the best places to eat around here. In the past month, we’d had Mexican, Indian, Italian, Persian, Chinese, Japanese, and more. I often teased him that he knew a takeout place for everything except—“Lithuanian,” I said.

He rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I told you, there isn’t any around here. Just for that, you lose your turn. So I pick Indian.”

“But we had that a few days ago.”

“Yeah, but you ordered wrong.”

“My chicken tikka masala was great.”

“But you’ve got to try the lamb. Let me order the lamb kabobs and some naan. I promise, you’ll love it.” When he looked at me like that, I couldn’t resist.

“Okay, okay, bring on the lamb.”

“An excellent choice,” he said with a smug smile, apparently pleased at convincing me. He picked up the phone and ordered quickly. “It should take about forty-five minutes—you son of a bitch.”

“What?”

But Luke was looking out the front entryway. His expression darkened. After a long moment, he looked back at me. His face softened as he took in my shocked expression. “Not you. That asshole out there. Sorry, I’ve got to go take care of something.”

He hurried around the counter and out the glass doors that led to the front drive. An ugly olive-colored taxi idled there.

I took a few uncertain steps toward him, but then I heard my name.

“Darcy Squires, as I live and breathe.” I hadn’t noticed Mrs. Townsend. She was sitting in the small lounge where breakfast was served in the morning, shuffling a deck of cards. Mrs. T. was the hotel’s only long-term resident who was as old as the seniors at my retirement home. She smiled up at me without pausing her Vegas-worthy shuffling. I’d tried to get her interested in playing games on the computer in the corner, but she insisted that real games involved real cards.

“How’s your young man this evening?”

“He’s not my young man, Mrs. Townsend.”

“Young lady, I see the way he looks at you. He’s yours if you want him.”

I didn’t know whether to blush or to sigh. I suspected I did both. I looked back toward the front of the building. Luke appeared to be arguing with the driver of the cab.

“That guy’s trouble,” Mrs. T. said. “He picks up people here, business people from out of town, and overcharges them. Luke’s already run him off a few times.” I guessed Mrs. T. would know. She’d been living here for nearly six months, ever since she’d moved out of the home she’d shared with her late husband.

The glass doors at the end of the lobby opened. I looked up, but it was a forty-something man I’d seen around a few times. He glanced over at Mrs. T. and me and winked. “Our boy Luke is kicking some serious ass out there.”

Mrs. T. chuckled.

Encouraged, the man sauntered over to us. “You ladies need some company?” he said, his gaze zeroing in on my v-neck top.

“Shoo. We’re gonna play cards,” Mrs. T. said.

The man was unfazed. He tipped an imaginary hat at us and walked to the elevators.

“That horny idiot has been here nearly as long as I have,” she said. I gave her a weak smile, but I was still concerned about Luke and the altercation out front. Mrs. T. followed my worried gaze. “He’ll be fine. Want to play gin?”

“Sure.”

We began playing, and it took all my concentration to keep up with the card shark across the table from me. After a few minutes, the taxi left and Luke came in, still looking angry. But he smiled at me before heading back to the front desk.

After we’d each won a hand, Mrs. T. asked me, as she always did, if I wanted to learn how to play bridge.

“No, thank you.” The residents at Hampton Acres loved that game, but I’d never felt the desire to learn. It seemed that a place like that would be such a better fit for someone like Mrs. T., a fact I tried to bring up casually as we played. Maybe this time she’d listen.

Or not. “That’s where people go to die,” she said.

“No it’s not. We’ve got great residents. People your age. Women who could whip your ass at bridge.”

“Not likely. And anyway, as soon as you move into one of those homes, your brain cells fly straight out your ears. I volunteered at a place like that when I was young. Went once a week to read to them. I read the same chapter every week and no one ever noticed.”

“Mrs. T!” The woman was incorrigible. And winning. She beat me quite decisively before the food arrived. When it did, Luke invited her to join us, but Mrs. Townsend grinned and said she’d leave us to it. I wondered if Luke noticed the emphasis she put on the word it.

Luke was right, the lamb was delicious. We ate in the back office. Technically, Luke had fifteen minutes left of his shift, but he kept an eye on the front desk from his seat by the door. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, eating off paper plates with plastic silverware. But the food was excellent, and my dining companion was looking pretty hot in his white button-down shirt and black jeans. So what if I’d get to bed late, wake up late, and blow off the eight-thirty apartment viewing I’d been waiting a week for? This was worth it.