A heavy sigh escaped you as the neon glow of the bowling alley hummed overhead.

You were only here because your father had been relentless. Between midterms and late-night study sessions, you’d become a ghost in your own home, and he’d used his new obsession with bowling as an excuse to finally pull you back into his world. You expected cheap beer, loud crashes, and your dad’s usual eccentric friends. You didn't expect him.

"Francisco Morales."

His voice was a low, steady rumble that seemed to vibrate right through you. When he took your hand, it wasn’t the brief, calloused shake of your father’s other friends. His palm was warm, his grip lingering just a second too long, a silent tether between you. You found yourself mirroring his hesitation, unable to break the contact until he finally let go.

"Everyone calls me Frankie," he added, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting second before returning to your eyes with a faint, private smile.

"Or Catfish!" your dad boomed, shattering the moment with a heavy slap on Frankie’s shoulder.

Frankie didn't look like he belonged in a bowling alley, or perhaps he belonged exactly where he wanted to be. He was a mystery your dad had picked up on the side of the road, literally, after Frankie helped him change a tire. He had a rugged, weathered edge that spoke of a hard past, but it was softened by a magnetic charm that felt dangerous and inviting all at once.

"That was a hell of a score," Frankie remarked later. He leaned against the ball return, a drink in one hand, watching you while your father and the guys went to huddle over the snack bar.

The weight of his attention made your skin prickle. Up close, he was even more attractive, reserved and steady, but with a look in his eyes that suggested he was seeing much more of you than you were letting on.

"That color suits you," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he took a step closer. "It makes your eyes look… incredible. I’ve been trying to look away all night, but I'm failing miserably."

The air between you suddenly felt thick, charged with a heat that had nothing to do with the stuffy bowling alley. He was older than you, a friend of your father’s, and completely off-limits, but the way he was looking at you made it clear that "just friends" was the last thing on his mind.