Page 23 of Right Up His Alley

The chemistry between Ezra and Damien is easy. It's clear they aren’t involved—romantically, at least. Or maybe they are? I’m honestly not sure. But I am positive Damien gives Ezra something not a lot of people can.

A mutual understanding.

“I’m just punking you,” Damien says. “It’s nice to meet you, Truett. It’s cool we have a local hero around here. Might bring in some business to the plaza. Am I right, Ez?”

“We’ll see.” Ezra shifts toward Damien. “So, any small jobs for me over at the parlor?”

Once again, the thought of the parlor makes him light up.

“Don’t you worry.” Damien reaches over, unclips the nametag from Ezra’s shirt, and sticks the pin through his. “You’ll have plenty to do next month, working off your debt. Now, I hear you guys are…going out tonight?” He raises a brow at me.

My voice tightens. “I wouldn’t say⁠—"

“Not on a date,” Ezra cuts in, face reddening. “It’s for research. Thought I told you…”

Damien chuckles and gently punches Ezra across the shoulder. I watch, noticing again the comfort between them. I can’t place why it stings, even if it’s a little. I’m not supposed to feel anything for Ezra. It wasn’t even a factor in my motivation to help with Spare Time. But a part of me wants to see if his smile, the one that brightens when he feels safe, could ever be for me.

“I’m playing, Ez. You guys head on out. Do your thing. I’ll be fine here. You said this was a retirement party, right?”

Ezra throws his jacket across his shoulders before rubbing the one Damien used as target practice. “Yeah, but if you’re looking for new customers, I’m afraid the people coming in tonight won’t want ink. I don’t know if their wrinkled skin would hold up with your tattoo gun.”

“Not at all. But you know I’ve been looking for a silver daddy.” Damien laughs hard. “I’m tired of working, dude.”

“Please don’t fuck any of my customers, Damien. You may not be looking for new patrons, but I can’t lose any of mine.” Ezra laughs, then turns to me. “You ready, True?”

I nod, a little caught off guard by the sudden use of a nickname, and even more by how much I actually like it. I follow behind him as we make our exit. I’m not sure what to expect from our little outing—our not a date—but I hope we find something that will spark some new life into Spare Time.

Or even into whatever this new relationship is with Ezra.

“Do you really think Damien would sleep with one of your elderly customers?” Truett asks as he slips into the passenger seat of my car. We decided to take my car instead of one of the cars he borrows from his parents, mostly because I insisted. I like being the one behind the wheel, in control of where we’re going. Driving someone else’s car—even Mr. Thorne’s fancy 2018 Bugatti Chiron-–has never sat right with me. Maybe it’s a trust issue, but when it comes to me being in the car with someone else, there are very few people I feel comfortable driving me around.

“Nah, despite what he said, he doesn’t go for older men. The biggest age gap he’s ever been with was maybe five years. Mostly, he prefers older women and men his own age,” I say.

“And you?” The moment the words are out, a blush creeps up Truett’s neck and cheeks. He looks like he wants to take the words back immediately, but to his credit, he keeps his mouth firmly shut, though his leg bounces up and down with nervous energy.

I could leave him to stew a little longer, but something in me doesn’t feel right while he's uncomfortable. So I shrug. “I guess I don’t really have a type. Haven’t really had time to date.”

“But if you could, who would your ideal, uhm, woman look like?”

I cock my brow up, glancing over at him before focusing on the road again. “Women aren’t really my thing. They’re beautiful, but I prefer men.”

“Oh.” His voice rises an octave, flush growing deeper. “Yeah, yeah, me too. I love men. All men. Men are something I love.” He lets out an anxious laugh. “I mean, I haven’t dated in a while either, but when I do start to date again, it will definitely be with a man.” Truett prattles on, probably regretting even asking the question, but I find his mumbling entertaining.

We fall into a comfortable silence after that, broken only by the calm, mechanical voice of my GPS directing me to the next exit. A few minutes later, Lunar Lanes comes into view, and the sight of it is enough to make my grip tighten on the steering wheel.

The place is massive.

Unlike Spare Time, which is tucked between neighboring storefronts, Lunar Lanes stands on its own. The building is enormous and surrounded by a sprawling parking lot that looks at least twice the size of mine. Most of the spots are occupied, leaving only a few far away from the entrance.

The car crawls into a spot before I cut the engine, taking out the key a little too aggressively. Truett raises a brow, giving me a pointed look. “You okay over there, big guy?”

Yes. No. I don’t fucking know. I thought I was okay. It’s one thing to say the alley is failing because of me, and an entirely different thing to see it with my own eyes.

“This is what Spare Time should be,” I say, my voice quiet even to my own ears.

“We’re not even inside, Ezra,” Truett says softly. He reaches over but hesitates before placing his hand on my knee. I know it’s supposed to be comforting, but it sends heat through my body, coiling low in my stomach.

“You’re not allowed to freak out until we are at least inside. Those are the rules,” Truett says.