Page 57 of Right Up His Alley

“Why don’t you head out? I’ll catch up with you soon. I gotta handle something first.” I nod, reassuring him that I’ll be okay. With that, Ezra grips the key card a little harder, gives me a soft wink, and then slips away.

Not a second passes before my father’s half-assed congratulations reaches me from behind. “Not sure what you were doing mid-game, but I’m glad you got your head out of your ass. Good work, son.”

“Give me the key you have to my room, please.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, give me the key you have to my room, please. I’m having a guest tonight, and I don’t want any intrusive, unwanted interruptions. So, again, give me⁠—”

“Alright, alright, alright. Damn,” he grumbles, taking the key to my room—the one he requested from the concierge—out of his wallet and placing it in my hands.

“Thank you.”

“Son, before you go. You know you being gay has never been an issue with me or your mother, right?”

“Yes…” The word hangs as I wait for the point.

“That guy… the one you were flinging around like a rag doll a little bit ago…” He pauses as if carefully considering his next words. “Is he going to be a distraction come time for the USBC Championship?”

I hesitate at first, but then a flicker of mischief warms my face. “Maybe.”

His jaw drops. Good, he deserves to stew in his own anxiety.

“I have a ride home, so don’t wait for me. Give Mom a kiss goodbye for me.”

And with that, I grab my trophy off the announcer’s table, thank the crowd with a final wave, and make my way to Room 237 to celebrate the way I want to celebrate my win.

And this time, there will be no one to interrupt us.

Ihonestly didn’t think I’d be able to pull off a surprise visit to watch Truett bowl. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I had no idea what to do with the alley. Damien was tied up, and I already owed him more favors than I could comfortably keep track of. Better to start working those off before I even think about asking for another.

In the end, I shut the alley down for the day. No parties booked, nothing major on the schedule—just the kind of slow, forgettable day that could easily slip away without any consequences. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself to justify it.

I’m glad I got to go, though, because seeing Truett in his element—all those years of dedicated practice—truly was remarkable to see. My True isn’t just good. He’s a fucking star. I suppose I should have known that already, considering his name is famous in the bowling world, but seeing him play, really play, is like watching a one-man show. You can’t take your eyes off him. If his father can’t be proud of him for being that great, then he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve his son.

The one thing I didn’t think through when driving—although I really should have—was sleeping arrangements for tonight. The thought of making that long drive home when I just got here sounds like a cruel and unusual punishment. I’d much rather sleep in my car. But the hotel key burning a hole in my pocket says I have other plans.

My stomach churns with pent-up nerves, and, let’s face it, horniness, as I drive to a hotel I’m certain is far fancier and more expensive than anywhere I’ve stayed in my life. Tonight, there will be no distractions. No one to walk in on us once the lights go out and we sink between the sheets. Part of me realizes I’m playing with fire, but I’m ready to be engulfed in the flames.

Set me ablaze, True.

My eyes lock onto the hotel ahead of me. It’s the type of hotel with its own security to bypass before you can even enter the resort area. I pull up to the barrier arm, rolling my window down for the bored-looking guard in the booth. He barely glances my way as he holds out his hand expectantly.

The fuck am I supposed to give him, a high-five? Clearly pissed I’m making him do his job, the security guard says, “Room key.”

“Right.” I dig into my jeans pocket and hand it over. He scrutinizes it as if I went through the trouble of producing a fake key to sneak into a bougie-ass hotel I clearly don’t look like I belong in.

“What name is the room under?” He clicks something on his tablet, probably pulling up guest reservations to make sure I’m not lying.

“Truett Thorne.” I pray the hotel is in fact under his name and not his parents’.

After a tense silence, I must have passed the guard’s test because he nods. “You know where to go?”

I could drive around and find it, but considering this hotel is massive, I could be here all evening trying to find Truett’s room. There’s no way in hell I’m missing out on uninterrupted alone time with him. “No,” I admit.

“Head straight out of here. When you get to the stop sign, turn right and then left. It’ll be in the main building toward the back. Have a good evening,” he finishes his directions, then snaps the plexiglass window shut. The barrier arm goes up, and I’m free to go.

I follow the guard’s direction, pulling up to the backside of the main building. I wish I knew what Truett’s car looked like, so I’d know if I’m even in the right place. But then again, Truett’s family has so many cars, it would be impossible to keep up with them all. Trusting the guard won’t lead me astray, though, I park and grab the small bag I packed last-minute before jumping into the car this morning.