Page 18 of Right Up His Alley

Just as I’m about to write Truett off, the front door slams open, sending a thunderous boom throughout the alley. I peer over the counter just in time to see a disheveled-looking Truett frantically looking around before his wide eyes land on me. Even from here, I can see the red flush to his cheek. But what truly baffles me is the fact he’s shirtless.

“Ezra!” he gasps, frantic eyes landing on me. “I can explain everything. But first, you wouldn’t have a shirt I could borrow, would you?”

There’s a story here. One I need elaboration on, but my focus is shot by the rise and fall of his toned, bare chest. Even though I try to avert my gaze, I can’t help but memorize every dip, curve, and muscle. Did he get a body like that from bowling? And has he seriously been hiding it under his shirt this whole time?

It’s distracting, too distracting, but I force my gaze away, even though the image of him half naked is seared into my brain.

“Uhm, Ezra? Are you okay?” Truett’s voice breaks whatever wicked spell he has over me. He looks at me like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to get my attention, and I know I’ve been caught staring.

A smirk quirks at the edge of his lips. I probably should feel embarrassed, but I’m not. It’s been a long time since I’ve appreciated a man’s body in any form, so I happily look my fill.

It’s his fault for arriving half naked, anyway.

I remember I’m still upset with him and frown. “You’re over half an hour late, Truett. I was already hesitant to accept your help after reading the rules, but for you to arrive late on top of that?” I shake my head, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice. “I won’t be played like a little bitch.”

“I know,” there’s actual remorse in Truett’s voice, “and you have every right to be upset with me, but please let me explain. I swear I had every intention of getting here on time, and I truly do want to help. Please, Ezra.”

The sincerity in his voice gives me pause, cutting through my anger. Doubt still lingers, reminding me I can’t fully trust him. Maybe I should hear him out, see what excuse he has for being late. He can explain and apologize, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept his help once it’s all said and done.

With a defeated sigh, my shoulders slump. “Fine,” I mutter, barely getting the word out before he flashes a smile that steals the air from my lungs. “But it better be a damn good excuse.”

“Can I borrow that shirt now before I explain?” His voice is edged with amusement. “Or do I earn more points without one?” His smug grin threatens to pull a flush from me, but I force my expression to stay neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“I only have old staff shirts.” I dig into a box underneath the counter, hoping I didn’t accidentally throw them out by mistake.

“That’s fine. Would it be too much to ask for a pizza too? Breakfast… didn’t happen.”

My hand closes around an old cotton shirt before standing up. I give him a pointed glare. “Anything else you’d like to request? Maybe some wine or champagne?”

“I know you’re probably joking, but I wouldn’t turn down a good bubbly.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Despite myself, I smirk, tossing the shirt at him. “Here you go, Hercules. Put this on.”

Truett catches it with one hand and raises a brow. “Hercules?”

I pointedly look down at his body and then back up. “Just seemed right.” And because he has a body like a Greek god, but I don’t add that.

Truett doesn’t take offense at my words. If anything, that goofy grin tells me he approves of the nickname. “So, if I’m Hercules, does that make you Hades?”

“You want me to be your uncle?”

“If you’re into that kinda thing,” he says.

I roll my eyes, and he laughs. Finally—albeit unfortunately—Truett pulls the shirt over his head. It’s snug, hugging his chest like a second skin. The Spare Time logo distorts over his pecs, making the writing look almost like gibberish.

“It’s… nice,” Truett lies. Beggars can’t be choosers, though.

“I’ll make pizza. Half and half, right?” I recall from his last visit, slipping into the kitchen. “Watch the door for me, will you?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” I picture Truett saluting me and hear him move behind the counter. I can only make out his side profile through the order window.

Working on autopilot, I grab the ingredients for the pizza. “Want to tell me why you’re late now?” I haven’t forgotten, and I’m not going to let him either.

Truett sighs. “My alarm didn’t go off. Apparently I set it for eight at night, and only happened to wake up because I heard my mother downstairs on her live.”

“Live?”

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a social media influencer,” Truett explains. “But, anyway, I hauled ass to get ready and rushed out the door. After grabbing my coffee, of course. But I guess I didn’t close the lid correctly because when I went to drink it, I spilled my entire thermos all over me. It burned, Ezra. Burned!”