Page 83 of Right Up His Alley

Thank you for showing up.

Thank you for still seeing me.

Thank you for believing in something I could barely hold together.

I kiss him because I can’t say it out loud—but without him, none of this would’ve been possible.

I kiss him because I’m in love with Truett Thorne.

I could have stayed locked in this kiss forever, but I’m keenly aware we are in public and the feelings consuming us are very much private bedroom feelings. Still, I can’t bring myself to regret it.

Reluctantly, I pull apart from Truett, but his hands are still on me, and I don’t let him go either. Even when we hear someone clear her throat next to us. We turn as one to see the woman from earlier standing there, smirking.

It hits me then why she looks so familiar. She looks just like Truett—or rather Truett looks just like her. I sigh, “@ThorneyPins.”

“Well, it seems like you two have a lot to discuss,” she says. “And considering Truett is no longer competing, you both have all the time you need.”

My head whips around so quickly, I hear it crack. “You aren’t competing? What?”

“Like I said, a lot to talk about,” Mrs. Thorne says. “Why don’t I take over for you, Ezra? I can even take some photos of the crowd and post them. The last photo we took of Truett in here blew up. Now, I don’t think that’s the reason for all these people, but I can’t help but think I may have helped a little.” She winks.

I barely register her words because I have questions for Truett that desperately need answering. Why did he decide to come here? Why isn’t he participating in the tournament? What does it all mean?

My thoughts are spinning, tangled and frantic, like I’m chasing answers through a corn maze.

Then—

A gentle hand slips into mine, grounding me. Warm fingers lace through mine with a quiet familiarity that makes my chest tighten. I meet Truett’s gaze, and his smile is small, hesitant—almost shy. Like he’s not sure he has the right to be here, to hold my hand, to ask for anything. But he’s the only person who has the right to know anything. To touch me whenever he pleases.

“Can we talk, Ezra?” he asks, voice soft but steady. “There are a few things I want to tell you.”

And I have a lot of apologizing to do. So, I nod, not able to trust my voice yet.

Mrs. Thorne takes over the counter, looking out of place with her high fashion in the least fashionable place I can imagine. She simply jumps in, running the counter like she could do it in her sleep. She even pulls out her phone, already snapping pictures in between guests as she said she would.

Truett tugs on my hand after a moment. “Let’s go,” he says, and I follow him. I will follow this man anywhere, because I’ve made many mistakes. Burned many bridges. But losing Truett is not a mistake I plan on making ever again.

He’s mine. Even if I have to beg.

We don’t slow down. I’ve got Ezra by the hand, pulling him through the crowd like we’re chasing something we’ve both been waiting to claim before anything can interrupt this moment. The carpet leading to the lanes rushes beneath us in a blur of color. The rubber of our shoes squeaks as we quickly cut and dodge through the clusters of people.

“Excuse us.” Ezra laughs, bumping shoulders with a guy carrying a pitcher of beer.

“Sorry. Staff coming through,” I call over my shoulder, laughing harder when someone shouts for us to get off their lane.

As we weave through the bowlers and cut across the busy approach to Lane 10, Ezra’s hand tightens around mine with every nudge forward. We’re both breathless by the time we reach the back door to the pit. We slip inside, letting it slam behind us.

The air in the back is warm, the kind of heat that builds when metal grinds against metal. The kind of heat that makes me want to press into him until it’s our bodies grinding, not the gears.

I let go of his hand only long enough to grab his hips and push him back against the cinderblock wall. His back hits with a dull thud that echoes under the throb of machinery.

Then I kiss him.

Hard.

No room for breath. No time to think. Just lips on lips, teeth, tongue, all of it. It’s more refreshing than a glass of water on a blistering hot Texas day.

And right as our mouths crash, so does a perfect strike from beyond the wall. Ten pins explode like fireworks shooting from the floorboards, like the whole alley feels this thrill along with us.