Chapter 14 #2
The king of distraction. The master of avoidance. The keeper of all my desires.
“I do.” I smile, hoping he sees how much it would mean to me. “Should I bring something?”
He laughs. “Please don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it from my family if you end up cooking something gross.”
“I’ll stop and pick up a side from Judy’s BBQ.”
“Good call.” He drags the toe of his shoe against the ground. “You can also not come if you—”
I put my finger over his lips, realizing just how easy it is for my mouth to feel jealous of another part of my body. “I’m coming.”
He rolls his eyes, but without missing a beat, he asks, “Is that why you have a wet spot on your pants?”
I look down, embarrassed for a second, until I realize I like the idea of Ezra being able to make me wet with just a kiss. “Why don’t you get down there and inspect it?”
“Oh? You’re talking dirty to me now?”
I grab his waist and pull him in, the side of my head nuzzling his neck.
My boldness catches me off guard, but what surprises me more is how easily he lets me in.
I’m completely swept away, knowing he and I are letting ourselves be in this moment—a moment I’ve secretly wanted since I first saw him the day I returned to the alley.
And it feels so fucking good. We hold each other for what feels like a lifetime, but it’s really only about two minutes before he pulls away.
This time, I’m not letting him run away from his worry, his self-doubt. “Talk to me.”
He stumbles over his words, gathering his thoughts before he finally speaks. “Do you think the USBC is going to find out what we’re doing? Bowlers in the tournament aren’t supposed to fraternize with hosting alley owners. What if we get caught?”
His words mimic similar fears of my own, especially when it comes to feeling torn between right and wrong.
What if I can’t stop myself from giving in to my father’s demands to keep competing, and I end up failing Ezra?
What if the USBC, and every professional bowler or fan, gets word I’ve been juggling my reputation and integrity, just hoping the balls don’t drop?
I’m just as worried as Ezra, but I don’t show it.
There’s no point in making us both paralyzed with anxiety.
Doing my best to look unbothered, I raise an eyebrow, shrugging. “Who’s going to tell the USBC? Or even care that much? It’s not like I’m getting inside information from you about your alley. So far, I’ve already bailed on painting. To be honest, I really haven’t helped all that much.”
“If you say so.” He tries to sound equally nonchalant, but I can see the doubt creeping in.
We stand facing each other, the air tight with all our worries, and when he lifts his hand, I reach for it, our fingers sliding together and lingering in a quiet, intimate hold.
Suddenly, a voice calls out, sharp and jarring. We both jerk apart, startled, as if we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t. Even though we have been.
I reach for my shirt to cover up while Ezra runs a hand over his face and through his hair, like he’s trying to wipe away any trace of how close we’ve just been.
Then I remember the stain on my pants and quickly wrap one leg over the other, trying anyway, even though it’s almost impossible to hide at this point.
“Sorry to bother you. The door was wide open, so I just walked in.” The man lets out a cough. “My name is Gary Swingston, and I’m a representative from the United States Bowling Congress. Is Mr. Ezra Jiménez here?”
Holy fuck.
“Ahem.” Ezra shifts back. His cheeks flush like the red stripes on a pin. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat again, like maybe the first time wasn’t enough. “That’s me. How… how can I help you?”
“Oh?” Mr. Swingston nods. “Well, you see, I’m a fellow Texan, born and raised here in Pflugerville.
I was in the neighborhood, and the USBC thought it would be easier for me to come out, see the alley for myself, maybe see your progress with the updates you noted on the application.
You said you had a couple of cosmetic issues to fix before your final walk-through. ”
“So this isn’t the final walk-through?” Ezra asks, his voice a pitch higher.
“Not yet, Mr. Jiménez. Your application is still in the review phase, which means Spare Time is still in the running to host. The USBC board members will be making their decision soon. It’s my job to report back with any news or updates, that's all.”
“That’s wonderful!” I pat Ezra on the shoulder, still trying to keep my shirt pressed against me to cover my bare chest.
“Yes, wonderful indeed,” Mr. Swingston says.
He tips the front rim of his leather cowboy hat.
“It will surely be fantastic to see the USBC Championship come back home to Pflugerville after all these years. I believe it’s been about twenty-three years since we’ve hosted.
” His eyes flicker between myself and Ezra. “But who’s countin’?”
“Great, even more pressure,” Ezra mumbles under his breath.
“So, umm,” Mr. Swingston continues. “I introduced myself, and I know this here is Mr. Ezra Jiménez.” He pauses and looks in my direction. “You wouldn’t happen to be…?”