Page 93 of Right Up His Alley

He waves as he scurries toward the restroom.

The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “The first frame of the tournament is about to begin. Blake Fisher makes his way to the approach for the first roll.”

The voice fades, and I take a seat to watch the game unfold. Every patron is seated and ready for the first throw. The focus is so strong, you can barely hear a pin drop.

By habit, I reach across my chest and pat twice. This time, my hand doesn’t find my bowling pin patch. It finds my Spare Time name tag instead. For a moment, a flicker of envy stirs in me, maybe wishing it were me out there. But just as quickly, it disappears when Ezra steps beside me, a small bag of tortilla chips and a container of nacho cheese in hand.

Now knowing what that little container of goo can do, I shake my head nervously at the cheese, but Ezra places his snacks on the table next to us and nudges my shoulder gently with his. “You okay? Does watching all this bring anything up for you?”

I smile, reaching to hold his hand. “Nothing negative. Promise.” I lean over and give him a kiss on his cheek. “It’s perfect. Especially since I get to watch it with you. In our home.”

“Good. I’m proud of you for pulling all of this together.” He looks across the alley. “I think my dad would be happy with my selection for new manager.” He meets my eyes, his fingers brushing gently over my knuckles as he squeezes my hand just a little. “I think that’s all he ever expected of me.”

“And what’s that?”

“To not give up. To follow my heart.”

Ezra and I press together, our hands still entwined. The cheers after Blake Fisher’s first frame victory send echoes all around us.

Our work has paid off, and the alley radiates proof of everything we’ve accomplished. Feeling more present, I take in all our little victories, small on their own but enormous because we achieved them together. My future feels lighter now, less like something I have to carry by myself, less like a trophy I have to win to please others.

With Ezra here at my side, I just know we can handle anything.

Together.

Four Months Later

My hands are clammy, no matter how many times I wipe them against my jeans. I tug at the collar of my shirt, feeling confined within my own clothes. The AC is on blast, and yet I feel sweat coat my brow. I’m a wreck and haven’t even gone inside yet.

In fact, we’ve been sitting outside The Skin Quill for ten minutes as I try—and fail—to work up the courage to go inside. Truett sits next to me in the driver’s seat, gently rubbing my shoulder. He’s given me grace and patience, far more than I deserve for how silly I’m being.

As True has reminded me, I’ve gone into this tattoo shop a thousand times. Sat next to Damian and tattooed alongside him. It’s not new, and yet the thought of walking in now, with my design book full of my art to be judged in hopes of securing an actual apprenticeship, makes me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic. At least that will hurt less than someone saying I’m not good enough to be their apprentice.

And, yeah, I guess failure and setbacks are part of life. Those are two areas I’m well versed in, but after confiding in my mom about the path I wish to take, this feels like a lot is hanging in the balance. She has been one of my biggest supporters, making sure I used the money we won from hosting the championship to buy new supplies and equipment, as well as tucking away some savings in case of emergencies.

“You’re overthinking again, babe,” Truett says gently, squeezing my thigh.

My body jerks in response. “No, I’m not.” It’s a lie, and we both know it.

Truett isn’t deterred though. He cups my face and pulls me closer, kissing me. At first I freeze, my brain too wired to do more than just sit there, but soon my body melts into his, and I’m kissing him back. His lips are soft, grounding me into reality. His belief in me is in every swipe of his tongue and soft whimper that leaves his mouth.

I feel empty when he breaks away.

So much has changed over the last few months—both with Spare Time and in my personal life. Truett has really stepped into his role as manager and taken on more responsibility than ever before. My mom and I have been working closely with him, training him in every part of running the alley. He’s learned how to manage inventory, handle the daily cash flow, create employee schedules, coordinate with vendors, and address customer concerns. From fixing lane issues to balancing the books, he’s been involved in every moving part of the business. It hasn’t been easy, but he’s risen to the challenge, and it’s starting to show in how smoothly things are running.

What’s been truly amazing is that Mrs. Barnes has not called the cops on Truett. Apparently, that special treatment was reserved solely for me, as if she knew I shouldn’t be there. But Truett does belong. He fits into the alley in a way I never did.

Where he’s really shining is his lessons. Truett has taken on teaching children and adults the proper way to bowl and build confidence in their game. At first I was worried this would be too much on his plate, but he’s only thrived and has formed strong bonds with his students. It’s honestly remarkable and reminds me just why I love this man.

As for us, we’ve been talking about getting an apartment together. Considering we are in each other’s beds every night, moving from house to house, it seems only natural that this is the next step in our relationship. I’ve been the one dragging my feet, not certain I want to leave my mom alone in the house. When I brought this up to her, though, she simply laughed and said she’d have room for all her friends and sisters to stay over, which is why I needed to move my ass out.

Of course, that’s going to entirely depend on getting this apprenticeship. So, you know, no fucking pressure.

“Maybe tomorrow would be a better day⁠—”

“Oh, no,” Truett cuts me off. “We’re not doing this again, Ezzie. You’re going to march that tight little ass up there and hold your head high while you speak with the owner. I know it’s scary, but just think. A year from now, we are going to look back at this moment and smile, knowing this was the start of your career.”

I’d very much like to skip to that moment but wisely keep my mouth shut. The nerves come from the owner I’m about to meet. Damien’s family owns this shop, and it would be one thing speaking to Damien. I might even get the benefit of being his friend to secure the position. But the man—whose name I don’t even have—is one of Damien’s tíos from out of town. He’s the only one who can approve apprenticeships, and he’s only here for the next few days.