Page 32 of Right Up His Alley

“Hmm… what about black?” he suggests, gesturing to the section of black shades.

Black would be cool, but I don’t think I can convince my mom. She’s weirdly averse to the color, especially for decor. Says it can invite evil spirits or some shit, so I shake my head.

“Doesn’t black make the room look smaller? Since Spare Time is already a small alley, it might be best to stay away from it,” I say.

“Huh, yeah, you’re right. Plus, it would look too much like a black hole of doom. Kinda the opposite vibes of what we’re going for.”

“The vibes being?”

“Retro with a modern twist… but on a budget. Right?” Truett tilts his head, looking up at me. From this close, I can smell the spearmint of his toothpaste and the smoky notes of his cologne. He smells damn good.

Focus, idiot!

“Right,” I say, my voice deeper than normal. Then, because I’m a fucking coward, I turn back to the samples and point to the yellows. “No to yellow. Light colors like that will leave too many handprints and scuffmarks on the walls.”

“That’s a good point. No light colors, they are all eliminated,” Truett agrees. “I say we also eliminate browns too. Brown is a shitty color. Literally and figuratively.”

I smirk, raising a brow. “What did you say about brown?”

It takes Truett a second to process my words, but the exact moment realization hits is impossible to miss. His eyes widen, cheeks flushing a deep, almost comical red, and sheer panic flickers across his face. The expression is so priceless that I almost feel guilty for teasing him—almost.

“No! That’s not what I meant! I love brown! Brown is great. Brown is sexy. Brown is⁠—”

“Relax, True,” I laugh, “I’m only teasing. I wasn’t sold on brown either. It’s too similar to what we have now.”

Together, we go through more of the colors, being mindful that our time together is short today. The elimination process goes faster than I expect, considering there are a lot of colors that might look nice in a tattoo, but not on the alley walls. Truett has valid opinions on each shade we eliminate, and not for the first time, I’m glad I have him on my team.

We don’t pause until we reach the blue shades.

“This might sound odd, but I like the midnight blue shade.” Truett points to a swatch toward the bottom.

I duck my head to find the color amongst the samples, stopping at a deep galaxy blue. It’s a rich, dark color, but would complement the walls much better than the pale beige they currently are. Honestly, any color would be better than that. It’s dark, but I think my mom would like it as well. It’s definitely one my father would select if he were here.

“Really? What do you like about it?” All of his reasons for disliking colors have been interesting, so I’m certain he has a reason this color is calling to him. It’s definitely calling to me too.

“It just screams bowling alley to me,” he admits. “But in a good, nostalgic way. Not in a ‘this place is old news’ sort of way.”

It’s strange, but I think I understand what he means. Spare Time will never be modern, but maybe that’s okay. It doesn’t need to be. Playing into its old school charm could really make such a drab alley come to life and change the atmosphere completely. People love nostalgia; we just need to amp up that feeling.

Or maybe it’s just paint, and I’m overthinking it.

“I like it,” I say after a moment, the certainty settling in the longer I study the color. I can already picture it coating the walls, breathing life back into the alley. There’s a lot of surface to cover even if it’s a small alley, but with some help, I could have it done by tonight.

“It’s decided.” I reach for the sample, turning it over in my hands a second longer than necessary before handing it off to be mixed. I risk a glance at him, then look away just as quickly.

“This is going to take me the whole night to paint. Which, by the way, are you busy later?” I’m aiming for casual, even if it comes out a little tighter than I’d like. “I could use the help.”

Truett sighs, tension evident in his expression. His arm finally falls away from me, and a hollowness settles over me. “I am busy, unfortunately. I probably should start getting ready once we’re done here.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m heading to a competition. It’s not until tomorrow afternoon, but my father insists on leaving this morning.” He offers a small shrug, a hint of resignation in his posture.

Immediate disappointment rushes over me, but I try to arrange my face in the most neutral of all expressions. “Oh—you’re competing again. When will you be back?”

Truett shifts his weight like he’s doing the math in his head and doesn’t love the answer. “A couple days.” He lets out a quiet breath, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It would be nice to come home tomorrow night, but I just know my dad is going to make me stay another day for the optional press interviews. He’s so damn overbearing.”

I’m starting to see just how suffocated his father makes him feel, but with how easily he goes along with it, I can’t help but think Truett allows it to happen.

But I don’t say any of that, because it’s not my place. So, I nod, keeping a flat expression, even though my chest is tightening. It shouldn’t matter—him being gone for a few days. We’ve only known each other a short time, and yet the idea of the alley without him already feels… off.

“Well…” I steady my tone, “you are a professional athlete, after all. Aren’t interviews and tournaments, I don’t know, a part of your job?”