Page 19 of Right Up His Alley

“Ah, hence the reason you were shirtless.” I finish up spreading the cheese on the pizza before grabbing the pepperonis.

“Yeah. It was not a good morning. I really did want to be here on time. I had every intention, but I swear it won’t happen again. I truly do want to help, if you’ll let me.”

Maybe I’m still dazed from seeing a half-naked Truett, or perhaps I’m just desperate, but I believe him. He could have just not shown up at all and left me hanging. But he didn’t. He’s here. He showed up. I don’t have many people in my life who will show up for me, so would I be a fool to let my initial hurt stop me from accepting his help?

Deep down, I know it isn’t just his lateness that’s bothering me. I’ve never been good at relying on other people. There’s a vulnerability in it I’m not sure I’m ready to face. But my biggest hesitation? It always goes back to not knowing if Truett truly plans to sit out the tournament. I’m the only one with something to lose here.

Everything would be so much easier if my father were still here. He’d know what to do. I miss my father, but at times it still feels like he’s here because I live in constant fear of disappointing him by failing this alley.

“Ezra?” Truett says softly, and I look up to find him standing by the order window. There’s something akin to fear and sorrow in his eyes. “Please let me help. I know you don’t like me⁠—”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t need to say it. It’s pretty obvious. You aren’t exactly Mr. Friendly.”

Well, he’s not wrong. I know I can come off as a dick sometimes. Uncaring. But that’s the thing. I care too damn much, and it often manifests in anger. Maybe I have been a little too hard on him.

“Sorry,” I say, shocking the hell out of Truett. His head whips up, eyes wide. “I just mean, I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t like you. That’s not true. You’re fine.”

“I’ll take fine. I mean, I would have liked to hear, ‘You’re my knight in shining armor, True!’ But we can work up to that.” He shrugs and then bites his lip in a way that has my mind running completely off course, and I nearly miss his next words. “Does this mean I can help?”

“I guess it does.” The words tumble out of my lips before I can stop them. “But if we’re going to do this, you need to be on time and reliable. I get final say on everything. Oh, and you must come fully clothed.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Still, he’s all but bouncing in glee. The happiness on his face is startling because when has anyone been so excited about the alley? No one since my father.

“Do you agree, though?”

“Of course! You’re the boss man, and I’m the sidekick.”

“Sure.” I resist rolling my eyes, trying to prove I’m not always a grump. “Grab my backpack. I have the USBC rulebook in there. Take a seat in the arcade, and I’ll join you once this pizza is done.”

Truett salutes me, and just like that, he’s off.

Apparently Truett is immune to molten hot cheese because the moment I put the pizza on the table, he’s shoveling a piece into his mouth and moaning.

Moaning.

Fuck me.

We eat in companionable silence, enjoying a slow morning with pizza for a late breakfast. After he devours his first two slices, Truett grabs for a third. “Do you have any reservations today?”

“About you? Ever since I met you,” I tease, a bit surprised by my own words.

“I mean customers, you ass.”

I shake my head. “Just gotta worry about the walk-ins.”

“Easy enough. When we’re done eating, we can walk the perimeter and make notes on what we need to prioritize on fixing or updating before the next visit. Do you have a notepad and pen? I can make notes so we don’t forget. Oh, you should also let me know how handy you are. That’s going to determine what we can realistically accomplish. There’s no strict budget, right?”

Shame fills me at the talk of money. It always feels like a personal failure when I admit we have hardly any. “We may have a few dollars we can spend, but it’ll be safer to assume our budget is zero.” It would take a lot of money to bring this alley up to par with the competitors, but maybe we can make it more welcoming and hit on the nostalgia factor.

“Fair enough. We have a plan then.” He beams. “I’m excited. This is going to be fun.”

“I think our definitions of fun are different,” I mumble and reach for the rules and regulations inside my backpack, tucked safely away in a manila folder. I open it carefully, as if afraid it might magically disappear. The top few pages are just a brief overview of USBC and their mission. The rules don’t actually start until the fifth page.

Most of them are pretty straightforward, things like the lanes need to be exactly sixty feet long and the wood polished and waxed. The ball return must be fully operational, as well as the pin setter. Those rules are easy and don’t intimidate me.

No, it’s rules like inspection and codes. I point to the rule, turning it so Truett can see it. “What does it mean when they say everything must be up to date?” It goes on to list food permits, fire inspection, daily safety checks for hazard prevention, and health inspections.