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The neon glow of Pinz Bowling Kitchen + Bar hums with a buzzing, retro energy, casting vibrant streaks of electric blue and magenta across the polished wooden lanes. It is the middle of a warm California summer afternoon, and the air inside is a comforting mix of fried appetizers, floor wax, and the rhythmic, thundering crash of heavy spheres colliding with pins. Nestled in a semi-private lane toward the corner, Meghan Trainor and Chloë Grace Moretz are completely wrapped up in each other’s orbit. They have been dating for nine months now, a steady and deeply grounded anchor in the midst of their chaotic, fast-paced careers. Here, shielded from the paparazzi and the noise of the industry, they can just breathe.
Before a single ball is pulled from the return rack, the couple congregates beneath the overhead monitor, their faces illuminated by the pixelated screen. The scoring system imposes a strict, old-school limitation: only ten characters per name.
"Okay, if we're doing this, we have to go full ridiculous," Chloë says, her voice laced with a playful challenge. She taps her chin, eyes narrowed at the digital keypad built into the heavy plastic console. "No real names allowed. It ruins the vibe."
Meghan laughs, the sound rich and warm as she nudges Chloë’s shoulder with her own. "Oh, absolutely. Go ahead, babe. Show me what you've got. Set the bar."
Chloë smirks, her fingers flying over the sticky buttons. After a moment of intense concentration, the monitor flashes with her creation: TOST BURNR.
"Because I literally ruined breakfast last Tuesday, and I know you're never going to let me live it down," Chloë explains, looking up at Meghan with a self-deprecating grin, her green eyes sparkling with genuine amusement.
"Hey, it was a collective effort, but I accept the tribute," Meghan teases.
She slides into the pilot's seat at the console, leaning over to punch in her own moniker. She doesn't hesitate for a second, typing out the letters with a theatrical flourish until the screen updates to read: MUSLE MOMY. Chloë bursts into a bright, uninhibited laugh, burying her face against the sleeve of Meghan’s oversized hoodie. The sheer absurdity of the names immediately dissolves the lingering, low-level anxiety that usually follows them whenever they venture out into public spaces. The high-stakes pressure of their public personas simply melts away, replaced by the comfortable, easy intimacy that defines their relationship. They are just two girls on a normal date, completely locked into their own private joke.
Round 1
With their absurd alter-egos locked into the system and their stiff, mismatched rental shoes firmly laced, the girls stand side-by-side at the edge of the approach. The lane stretches out before them, a glossy river of oil reflecting the overhead lights, ending at a pristine pyramid of ten white pins. Chloë stands with her hands on her hips, looking down at the heavy, swirling marbled spheres resting in the ball return. Meghan steps up beside her, slinging an arm casually around Chloë’s waist.
She pulls her close, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to the side of her temple. "Alright, listen to me. This first round? It doesn't count. It’s completely meaningless. It’s just the practice round."
Chloë glances up, eyebrows raised. "Oh, really? Is this a psychological tactic to lower my guard?"
"No, I swear!" Meghan insists, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "It’s a feeler. A warm-up. We gotta break the bowling ice, you know? Get the muscles moving, figure out if the lane is sticky. The score on that screen is a ghost. It means nothing to us."
"Okay, good," Chloë says, exhaling a soft breath of relief as she steps up to select a light blue, eight-pound ball. "Because if you saw my middle school bowling birthday party records, you would probably break up with me on the spot."
"Never," Meghan says softly, her eyes warming up as she watches Chloë prepare for her turn. "Show me what my Toast Burner can do."
Chloë steps onto the approach, gripping the blue ball with an expression of intense, exaggerated focus. She turns back to face Meghan, lifting a finger in a dramatic gesture of warning. "Watch me get this strike. I've been channeling my inner champion all morning. This pins are going down."
She takes three measured steps forward, swings her arm back, and releases the ball with a bit too much enthusiasm. The sphere hits the lane with a loud thump, wobbles uncertainly for about three feet, and then promptly veers to the right, dropping into the gutter with a hollow clatter before rolling uselessly into the shadows at the end of the lane.
Chloë drops her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Oh my god. A total disaster."
Meghan doesn't miss a beat. She meets Chloë halfway on the approach, extending a hand for an enthusiastic, resounding high five. "Hey, it had great velocity! The form was beautiful, honestly. A work of art."
"It was a zero, Meg," Chloë says, turning around to watch the sweep arm clear the empty lane.
Two turns later, it is Meghan’s turn to step up to the line. She opts for a sparkly purple ball, weighing it in her hands before flashing Chloë a confident, dazzling pop-star smile. "Alright, clear the way for your Muscle Mommy. I'm about to avenge your honor."
Meghan lines up her shot, takes a graceful stride, and releases. The ball hooks beautifully at first, looking like a guaranteed strike, before completely losing its trajectory and sliding into the left gutter, missing the head pin by a mile.
"Yes! Inclusivity at its finest!" Chloë shouts, immediately stepping up to meet Meghan. She mimics Meghan's earlier energy, offering a high five that snaps loudly through the air. "See? We're a team. If I go down, you go down with me."
"Exactly. No pin left behind, or whatever the saying is," Meghan laughs, hooking her fingers through Chloë’s as they walk back to the curved plastic seating area.
Throughout the rest of the round, the game proceeds with a comforting, lighthearted rhythm. Neither of them takes the sport seriously, preferring to focus entirely on each other. Every roll is preceded by a bout of playful trash-talk, and every miss is met with immediate comfort.
When Chloë manages to knock down a solitary three pins on a difficult split, Meghan cheers as if she just won a Grammy. "Nice shot! The spin on that was actually incredible!"
And when Meghan’s ball narrowly misses the pocket, Chloë is right there, leaning over the hand-dryer vent. "Oh, I thought that was going to get it for sure. It had the angle! The lane is definitely rigged."
There is an easy, unforced flow to their banter. They aren't trying to impress anyone, nor are they performing for an audience. In a world where they are constantly scrutinized, this small, messy game of bowling feels like the realest thing in the world.
As the final frame of the practice round wraps up—leaving both TOST BURNR and MUSLE MOMY with scores that would make a professional bowler weep—Meghan holds up a finger. "Stay right here. Do not move. I am going on a scouting mission for sustenance."
A few minutes later, Meghan returns carrying a heavy plastic tray loaded with a mountain of loaded nachos, dripping with melted cheese, jalapenos, and sour cream, alongside two massive, ice-cold fountain sodas. She sets the tray down on the small table between their chairs with a triumphant grin.
"The essentials."
"You are an actual lifesaver," Chloë says, sliding into the booth next to her.
She stretches her legs out, her fingers immediately reaching for a chip heavy with guacamole. As they settle into the breather, a slight shadow of old anxiety passes over Chloë’s face. She glances around the bowling alley, her eyes lingering briefly on the digital clock on the scoring monitor, then toward the front desk. Growing up in the industry, her family had always been fiercely protective, but the constant pressure and chaotic schedules had often left her with a lingering sense of urgency, a feeling that the clock was always ticking down on her peace.
"Hey," Chloë says, turning her cup in a circle, her voice dropping to a quieter, softer register. "Do we need to keep bowling right now? Like, is our time running out? I don't want the lane to close on us or have the staff come over if we're just sitting here eating."
Meghan’s expression softens instantly. She reaches across the small space between them, wrapping her hand over Chloë’s, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over Chloë’s knuckles. The warmth of the gesture is immediate and grounding.
"Babe, relax," Meghan says gently, her voice steady and reassuring. "We're paying by the game, not by the hour. We own this lane for as long as we want it. There is absolutely no rush. We can sit here and eat these nachos for the next hour if we want to."
Chloë lets out a soft breath, the tension leaving her shoulders as she leans her head against Meghan’s shoulder. "Okay. Good. I lose track of how normal places work sometimes."
"I get it," Meghan murmured, pressing her cheek against Chloë’s hair. "But we're totally fine. We're on our own time today."
They chew in a comfortable, companionable silence for a moment, watching the family two lanes over celebrate a birthday party. It’s the kind of crowd they rarely get to be a part of—unfiltered, loud, and entirely inclusive.
"This is exactly why I love hanging out with you like this," Chloë says suddenly, looking up at Meghan with a soft, earnest expression. "You're just so incredibly real. Honestly, realer than pretty much anyone else I know in this town."
Meghan blushes slightly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, stop it."
"No, I'm serious," Chloë insists, sitting up a bit straighter, her eyes intense with conviction. "Other celebrity friends, they're not really your best friends. You never get to see them because everyone's traveling or shooting or promoting something. And then when you finally do run into them at an industry event or a party, it's just this superficial thing. You're both just standing there like, 'Oh, hi. Are you exhausted, too?' And that's the whole depth of the conversation."
Meghan nods, understanding the sentiment completely. "Yeah. It's like a weird support group where nobody actually talks about anything real."
"Exactly," Chloë says, gesturing with a nacho chip. "But with us, we built our own thing. The Anti-Squad Squad."
Meghan laughs out loud at the name, a sound of pure delight. "The Anti-Squad Squad. I still love that we call it that."
"Well, it's true!" Chloë says, her voice turning passionate but remaining grounded. "I just really hate what the word 'squad' has become lately. When we were growing up, both of us dealt with being left out of a lot of situations. We knew what it felt like to not be invited into people's friend groups, to look from the outside in. So when I see these massive, exclusive celebrity squads now, it just rubs me the wrong way. That kind of squad-specific exclusivity doesn't go along with what we believe in at all."
"It’s just high school all over again, but with paparazzi," Meghan agrees, her eyes fixed on Chloë with deep admiration. "That's why I love you. You don't buy into any of that garbage. You're just Chloë."
"And you're just Meghan," Chloë replies softly, leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to Meghan’s cheek. "Or, sorry—Muscle Momy."
Meghan groans, laughing as she wipes a stray crumb of cheese from the table. "Alright, that's it. The nachos have given me power. You, my little Toast Burner, are going down in Round 2."
"Bring it on," Chloë challenges, her eyes bright with love and competitive spirit as they slide out of the booth, ready to take on the next lane together, entirely on their own terms.
The leaderboard on the overhead monitor blinks, wiping away the disastrous scores of the practice round and resetting both TOST BURNR and MUSLE MOMY to zero. The slate is clean, but the competitive tension in the air instantly shifts as Chloë hops out of the booth, a mischievous glint in her green eyes.
"Okay, if we're doing a second round, we need to up the stakes," Chloë says, wiping a trace of nacho dust onto her jeans. She leans against the ball return, casting a playful, daring look over at Meghan. "Let's put a little wager on this one. To spice things up."
Meghan raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, really? What kind of wager are we talking about, Moretz?"
"Simple," Chloë declares, tilting her chin up. "Whoever wins this round gets to pick exactly what we do after this, or whatever we do for our next official date. The loser has to do whatever the winner wants. No questions asked."
"Oh, you are so on," Meghan laughs, already stepping up. "But since I know my way around a lane, we need some ground rules to keep it fair. A handicap for every frame. Two shots each, but we have to follow the rule."
Chloë rubs her hands together. "Perfect. Let’s do it."
Frame 1: The Blind Faith
Chloë steps up to the approach first. Per the rule of the first frame, she lines up her shot, takes a deep breath, and tightly squeezes her eyes shut. She takes three blind steps and lets the ball fly. It drops with a heavy thud and drifts lazily into the right gutter.
"Did I get a strike?" Chloë asks, keeping her eyes shut tight.
"Not quite, babe," Meghan giggles, guiding Chloë by the waist to line her up for her second shot.
Chloë shuts her eyes again, releases, and manages to clip a single pin on the far edge. When it’s Meghan’s turn, she closes her eyes, relies entirely on muscle memory, and somehow knocks down four pins on her first roll and two on her second, taking a tiny, early lead.
Frame 2: The Victory Lap
The second frame demands performance art. Chloë rolls a decent ball that knocks down six pins, and the moment the sphere hits the wood, she breaks into an exaggerated, theatrical disco routine right on the approach, spinning around and pointing to the ceiling.
Meghan is laughing so hard she can barely throw her ball.
She manages to knock down seven pins, immediately dropping into a dramatic, pop-star-worthy hair flip and a playful hip shimmy that has Chloë cheering from the seats. "Yes! Work it, Muscle Momy!"
Frame 3: The Non-Dominant Disaster
Bowling with their non-dominant hands turns out to be an absolute equalizer. Chloë, using her left hand, throws a ball that moves at a snail's pace, zig-zagging across the lane before knocking down two pins. Her second attempt misses entirely.
Meghan steps up, confident that her family bowling pedigree will save her, but her right-handed release is completely awkward. The purple ball skitters sideways and drops immediately into the gutter. She manages to salvage three pins on her second shot, keeping the score neck-and-neck.
Frame 4: The Screen Time
"This is incredibly dangerous for my phone," Chloë mutters as she steps onto the approach, her eyes locked firmly on her screen as she types out a quick text to Meghan.
Without looking away from the display, she blindly hurls the ball with her right hand. It clatters loudly, somehow taking down five pins.
Meghan tries to match her, staring intently at her phone screen while letting her ball fly. She gets a little too enthusiastic, missing the pins entirely on her first shot, but manages to clean up four pins on her second attempt by guessing the trajectory.
Frame 5: The Weight Class
For the fifth frame, they swap equipment. Chloë struggles to lift Meghan’s heavy, neon-colored purple ball, her fingers slipping slightly in the larger grip holes. She groans under the weight, swinging it forward with a heavy heave. The momentum carries the ball straight down the center, exploding into the pins for an impressive eight-pin count.
Meghan, conversely, finds Chloë’s light blue eight-pounder almost impossible to control. It feels like a toy in her hand. She overthrows it on the first shot, sending it into the gutter, but adjusts on the second roll to pick up a spare, keeping them dangerously close in points.
Frame 6: The Rearview Mirror
Facing completely away from the pins, Chloë stands at the foul line, looks over her shoulder to gauge the distance, and then bends forward to swing the ball backward between her legs. It wobbles off-course immediately, landing a big zero.
Meghan uses the same backward technique, using her peripheral vision to aim. Her ball rolls with surprising accuracy, knocking down six pins and giving her a slight edge as the game enters its final stretch.
Frame 7: The Staring Contest
"You have to look right at me," Chloë insists, standing right at the edge of the adjacent lane, only a few feet away from Meghan.
Meghan steps up to the line, her eyes locked onto Chloë’s face. Trying to bowl while maintaining intense, unbroken eye contact proves to be a massive test of willpower. Meghan bites her lip to keep from laughing, releases the ball blindly, and watches Chloë’s expression change as the ball knocks down seven pins.
When it is Chloë’s turn, Meghan steps right up to the line, pulling a goofy, crossed-eyed face. Chloë cracks up instantly, her ball veering sharply into the gutter, though she manages to hit three pins on her second try while trying to look smolderingly romantic.
Frame 8: The Power Play
Frame eight is all about pure, unadulterated velocity. Chloë handles her ball with everything she’s got, sprinting down the approach and hurling it down the lane. It hits the wood with a deafening smack and blasts through five pins.
Meghan steps up, channels her inner athlete, and unleashes a powerhouse throw. The ball rockets down the lane at maximum speed, scattering the pins in a chaotic explosion. It’s a near strike, leaving only one stubborn pin standing, which she quickly cleans up on her second turn.
Frame 9: The Granny Shot
For the semifinal frame, both girls adopt the classic, two-handed underhand granny shot. Chloë swings the ball between her knees, launching it smoothly down the center. It’s her best shot of the night, knocking down nine pins. She hops up and down, cheering for herself.
Meghan follows suit, executing the perfect underhand roll. Her family’s love for the hobby shines through even in this ridiculous stance; the ball rolls flawlessly, striking the pocket and knocking down all ten pins for a spectacular granny-style strike.
The Final Verdict
By the time the tenth frame wraps up, the overhead screen calculates the final tallies. Because bowling has always been a staple of Trainor family gatherings and a beloved hobby for Meghan, her natural instincts give her the ultimate advantage. The final numbers flash: WINNER: MUSLE MOMY.
Chloë doesn't mind the loss in the slightest. She slumps back onto the vinyl seat, completely breathless from laughing, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. This has been the most fun she’s had in months—no pressure, no expectations, just pure, goofy joy with her favorite person.
"Alright, alright," Chloë says, holding her hands up in defeat as Meghan does a triumphant little victory dance near the ball return. "You win fair and square. The Trainor bowling legacy remains undefeated. I am officially at your mercy for the rest of the day and our next date."
Meghan grins dynamically, walking back to the booth and sliding in next to Chloë, wrapping her arms securely around her girlfriend's shoulders. "Don't worry, babe. I'll be gentle with my power. But you're definitely buying the next round of drinks."
"Deal," Chloë whispers, leaning into the warmth of Meghan's side, completely content to let her girlfriend take the lead.