Chapter 9 #3
“Prize? We didn’t discuss prizes for the winner.”
Truett doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. He lifts a finger to his temple, tapping lightly as if he’s deep in thought. I could stop him—tell him right now there will be absolutely no prizes—but curiosity keeps me quiet.
That is until he starts swaying in place, bobbing his head along to the music playing loudly over the speakers.
“What are you doing? Are you having a seizure?” I ask.
“It’s called dancing,” he says with an exaggerated eye roll. “And I know what I want my prize to be now.”
I dread the answer, but apparently I’m a glutton for punishment because I ask anyway. “What is it?”
“Dance with me.”
“What?” I choke out, trying to hide my nerves with a shaky laugh. “I’m not doing whatever,”—I waves my hand at him—“that is.”
“C’mon. Dance with me.” But Truett doesn’t give up because of course he doesn’t. “For once in your life, Ezzie, I need you to do what is not expected of you. Live a little.”
My definition of living a little would not be dancing in the middle of a bowling alley where anyone can see us. The song isn’t even a good dancing song, some old rock song with a weird beat. No one else is dancing, and yet… no one else seems to be paying attention to anyone but their own group.
He moves closer, his hand outstretched and nearly brushing mine. “C’mon, I’m not going to tell you again. Come dance with me.”
The authority in his voice does something to me. Something I’m not willing to think too hard about, especially not in a public place.
With great reluctance, I take his hand, earning a satisfied smile from Truett as he pulls me close.
What the fuck am I doing? Dancing with a man in the middle of a bowling alley. This isn’t me. This isn’t something I do. And yet…
Truett and I start to move, flailing our arms and stumbling over our feet into something almost resembling dancing.
It’s awful. Neither one of us is a good dancer, but for the first time in a long time, I feel lighter.
Freer. The laughter that leaves my lips is genuine and not something I have to force.
He laughs with me, and I find I really like the sound of his laugh.
We trip over our own steps, but neither of us stops.
We treat the lanes as if we’re the only ones out here, and strangely enough, we don’t care.
At least I don’t. For a moment, it’s just us and the sounds from the speakers and the pins crashing.
No stress, no broken pinsetter machines, no flickering signs outside, no promises of running an alley I don’t want.
Just this.
Us.
But all too suddenly, the music comes to an abrupt end as someone’s long-ass order is read over the speakers, ready for pickup.
Truett lets go of me, both of us breathless with stupid smiles on our faces.
What we did was ridiculous, but I guess the random dancing had to be done so we could both forget about the pressures our families have put on us.
Even if we don’t truly understand what the other has been through, we both still know what it feels like to have the weight of others anchoring us down to the point of not really knowing who we are anymore.
“So,” Truett says, breaking the spell we were under. “Now that we’ve been here, bowled, and danced, has it inspired you to do anything at Spare Time?”
Right. The whole reason why we’re here. Not a date, as I told Damien, because it wasn’t. Isn’t.
“Let’s start with something small to renovate,” I say after a moment, still catching my breath and remembering his words from earlier. “Paint. A fresh coat will make it look a hundred times better.”
He huffs out a laugh at hearing his suggestion repeated back to him. “It’s definitely going to help. I think a fresh coat of paint is the perfect place to start. I’m sure we can find cheap paint somewhere.”
And just like that, I’m brought back to reality. Truett and I sit down to take off our bowling shoes and slip back into our own. I finish first and offer him my hand. He doesn’t hesitate as he takes it, and I guide him to his feet.
This is the part where I should let go. He should want to let go too, but neither of us makes the move. I’m so out of my league here, but I don’t want to let go. What did Truett tell me? Live a little.
That’s what I’m choosing to do.
Before I’m able to talk myself out of it, I guide him back to the counter to return our shoes. “Want to make sure you don’t try to steal them again.”
“Oh, shut up. That was an accident.” He laughs.
Together, we make our way outside. It’s not until we draw nearer to the car and before we’re forced to split, me to the driver’s side and Truett to the passenger’s, that I know I need to let his hand go. Reluctantly, I drop mine, immediately missing the warmth of him.
“Who knew you were such a gentleman?” Truett winks at me before opening the car door.
I smile and lower my head. Now, it’s my turn to blush. I don’t know what magic Truett Thorne has over me, but the moment I get into the car, I can’t help but think of ways we can do this again.