Chapter 28
We don’t slow down. I’ve got Ezra by the hand, pulling him through the crowd like we’re chasing something we’ve both been waiting to claim before anything can interrupt this moment.
The carpet leading to the lanes rushes beneath us in a blur of color.
The rubber of our shoes squeaks as we quickly cut and dodge through the clusters of people.
“Excuse us.” Ezra laughs, bumping shoulders with a guy carrying a pitcher of beer.
“Sorry. Staff coming through,” I call over my shoulder, laughing harder when someone shouts for us to get off their lane.
The air in the back is warm, the kind of heat that builds when metal grinds against metal. The kind of heat that makes me want to press into him until it’s our bodies grinding, not the gears.
I let go of his hand only long enough to grab his hips and push him back against the cinderblock wall. His back hits with a dull thud that echoes under the throb of machinery.
Then I kiss him.
Hard.
No room for breath. No time to think. Just lips on lips, teeth, tongue, all of it. It’s more refreshing than a glass of water on a blistering hot Texas day.
And right as our mouths crash, so does a perfect strike from beyond the wall. Ten pins explode like fireworks shooting from the floorboards, like the whole alley feels this thrill along with us.
Ezra makes a sound in the back of his throat, pleasure or surprise—or both—and I swallow it like it belongs to me.
“Whoa, whoa.” He stops, placing his hands on my chest and gently pushing me back. My lips latch onto his neck, refusing to abandon the taste of his salty skin. “I need to say something.”
“Okay. You talk; I kiss.” He lets me back in, and I nuzzle into him, my tongue tracing the back of his ear.
“Oh, god,” he moans. “I’m… I want to say… hmm.” He lets out a soft, aching whimper. Then another, louder than the last, as I nibble on his earlobe. “Fuck, True. I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”
Slowly, I pull back. “Baby, you don’t have to apologize. I get it. I was mad. Devastated even, but I also understood.”
“No,” he says, gathering himself. “I thought by breaking up with you, it would help keep the alley from being rejected. I let my anxiety about not being selected force me to give up on what… who was pushing me to keep going. I was so angry that everything I’ve worked for on my own was gone.
One click and my entire tattoo career just vanished, and I didn’t even know why.
I don’t care about this damn bowling alley. I just…”
“You do care. You care because, deep down, you want to see this place be a success the way your father made it a success. You want to keep his legacy alive. But guess what?” I look down and trace my fingers over the ink winding around his sleeve.
“You are allowed to care about your own success too.”
A breath pushes through his lips. “You’ve said this to me before, but why don’t I believe it?”
“In order to believe it, you have to believe in yourself. I’m starting to learn that for me too.”
“How the fuck do I do that?” He lets out a laugh before shaking his head. “I can’t seem to figure out what matters to me more.”
I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead.
“I’ve asked myself the same question since the day I walked back into this fucking alley.
” I smile. “It took me a while, but I realized something. Even though I didn’t solely choose my path, I’m accepting my happiness with all I’ve accomplished.
That’s enough for me. Now, I want something more.
Something professional bowling can’t give me.
“Dropping out of the tournament was what I needed to do. Not for you, not for Spare Time, but for me. I was afraid to do it because I didn’t trust myself, and I didn’t believe I could be enough.
How do you do that too? I can’t tell you.
All I can say is you just do it. You choose you over everything else. ”
“Truett, it’s different for you. You deserve a break from bowling. Like you said, you accomplished your goals. You’re a champion. You’ve made your mark. Who am I if the mark I make isn’t for my family? I still need to prove something here. Right?”
I raise my hand, my finger pressing gently against his lips.
“It frustrates me to know you don’t see what size mark you’ve already made on your family, this world, in this community.
On me. You may not have built this bowling alley, but you damn sure kept it going when we all needed it the most. I came back here, didn’t I?
I knew Spare Time was my home. I may be a champion bowler.
But you, Ezzie?” I pause, wanting to make sure the next thing I say sinks in.
“You give and give to everyone around you, all for a dream that isn’t even yours. That makes you a fucking hero.”
“That sounds dramatic.” He tries to scoff, but it falters. His face burns red, and his eyes well just slightly before he can stop it.
“It’s the truth. You deserve to chase your own dream and ink an even bigger mark than you already have.” I keep my eyes on his as I gently wipe his cheek, my thumb catching a tear.
Ezra surges forward and kisses me, then pulls back slowly, our bodies still close. The salty taste of his tears lingers on my lips. He raises his eyebrows. “So, does your dad know you dropped out?”
I laugh. “I don’t think he’s jumping off the walls. I think he’s still processing it.”
“It’s a lot to process. His big-time professional bowler son isn’t abiding by his every demand anymore. I’m proud of you.”
“I won’t lie. Confronting him was terrifying. But it got easier as I was realizing in the moment I didn’t want to be the person he wanted me to be.”
“And who did he want you to be?”
“Him.” I swallow and tilt my head slightly, focusing on the small reflection in Ezra’s eyes. I catch the twinkle of my own staring back at me. “Just like you, I want to try being me for once.”
“Does this mean I’m not dating a professional bowler anymore? Are you retiring?”
“Retiring makes me sound old.” I laugh. “It might sound crazy because I definitely drew the line in the sand with my dad, but I don’t know yet.
I don’t think I’m done with bowling. I’m definitely not done with Spare Time.
I think…” I pause. “I think I want to be a bowling coach. I think you’re dating a teacher now.
” I scan Ezra’s face for any sign I’m making a huge mistake.
“When I was in Dallas, some kid came up asking for my help. He reminded me of how much fun bowling can be.”
“Aw, well, I wish I knew somewhere hiring a bowling instructor…”
The corners of my mouth tick up. “Well, it's funny you say that. I was hoping you’d have a connection. I’ll email you my resume.”
“Shit, please don’t send me an email until I get myself a new computer that wasn’t made in the 90s.” He tucks his head into my shoulder and laughs even harder before pulling away.
My mouth tugs into a grin before I can stop it. I pull him back into my chest, and my arms wrap around his waist. I can’t seem to remember if there was a time I was as happy as I am at this moment. “So, seriously, do you think I can start teaching at Spare Time?”
“With the way business has picked up, I don’t see why not. We may need to look at hiring a lot more people with all this momentum today. If it keeps up.”
“It will.” My lips find his again, softer this time, savoring the moment. His hand settles just above my hip before I whisper, “Will there be an interview for the position?”
He unhooks my belt with a sharp little snap, and my pants loosen around my waist. Ezra bunches the waistband of both my pants and boxers and tugs them down as he folds to his knees.
As I’m watching him, he looks up at me, giving me the sexiest smirk.
“This is the interview,” he says, voice low and flirtatious. “You’re hired.”
I let out a soft chuckle as I wrap my hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. His hair tangles between my fingers as he kisses my inner thigh and grips my cock.
“And consider this,” he squeezes the bottom of my shaft, his mouth salivating with anticipation, “a sign-on bonus.”
I can’t speak. I can barely breathe. All I can do is watch his mouth open, taking me in as deep as his throat will allow. His tongue rides my cock like he has something to prove, but I know better. He already knows exactly what he’s doing. “Fuck, Ez. That’s it.”
A quiet gag slips out as he pulls back. A glossy sheen coats my shaft, making it slick for his hand to wrap around and stroke me. He looks up, his eyes heavy with a raw, hungry thirst. “How much teeth do you like?”
No one has ever asked me that. The time I take to think about it actually turns me on a little more. “Not too much, baby. Maybe just a gentle nibble,” I say, trusting him to hurt me in the perfect way.
And he does.
Fuck. His teeth brush my shaft in the most sensitive way. I want to scream from how good it feels, but I hold back. There are still a hundred people beyond the lanes who’d hear if I let loose the way I really want to. If this is his way of apologizing to me, I accept.
Ezra wraps both arms around me, gripping my ass in his hands.
He squeezes and guides my hips, rocking me forward and back, urging me to fuck his open mouth.
His fingers drift closer to my hole, spreading me just a little more.
One brushes over it, and the sudden touch switches me out of my dazed ecstasy.
“Um, sir, I’m not a bowling ball,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Where are those fingers going with no lube?”
He pulls off my dick. A wry smile forms at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you liked a little pain?” He slides two of his fingers into his mouth. When he takes them out, they’re dripping with spit.
I throw my head back with a chuckle and breathe in. “You’re so evil.”
He keeps sucking as his hand moves behind me again, fingers returning to tease my hole. One drenched finger eases in, followed by a second with slow, deliberate sureness.
Oh, my…fucking…god.
Within minutes of relentless stimulation, the feeling surges, and I squirm, searching for something to catch it. “Ezra, I’m about to bust.”
“It’s okay, baby. I want it. Let me have it.” His moan vibrates against me.
I let go before I even realize it, no longer caring about the mess.
I give him everything. When I look down, his eyes are closed, lips still wrapped around me, letting out a deep, muffled sound that nearly undoes me all over again.
His mouth stays warm around my cock, keeping me in as he swallows every drop. His hands are still gripping my ass.
Then I see it. His joggers, moist. Darkening at the crotch.
“Did you just…” I start.
He pulls back, licking his lips. “Come without touching myself?” He grins. “Yeah. That’s a first.”
He reaches for my waistbands and pulls them up as I take over for him, buttoning, then buckling my belt to the way it was before. I give him one final kiss. “I can still taste it. You are dirty.”
“Dirty and in need of new pants.” He shuffles over to a wire rack and reaches for the highest shelf, grabbing an extra Spare Time uniform. “Thank god I keep these back here in case of a mess.” He slips his bottoms off and steps into the pair of khakis.
“A mess? Was this all part of a plan you concocted? To bring me back here for the sole purpose of getting messy?”
“Maybe.” He winks. “But if anyone asks, I had to change after oil splattered from the pinsetters on my jeans.”
We make our way out from behind the lanes and head toward the shoe counter. Our moms are there, chatting like old friends. It’s wild to see, especially knowing they would never have become friends if Ezra and I weren’t together.
“Where did you boys disappear to?” my mom asks, throwing me a wink. She knows exactly where we went and why.
“We needed to talk some things out,” Ezra says smoothly. “And make up.”
“You mean make out?” Mom laughs. Mrs. Jiménez covers her own giggle with her hand.
“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, ladies.” I wink.
Ezra grins, then glances at me. “Though I am curious. How in the world did the USBC see the financial records I emailed and still choose us?”
“Oh, right,” I chime in. “I forgot to tell you. Apparently, my mom created a social media profile for Spare Time the day I was here practicing. The account has gained a lot of popularity. Everyone is really liking the new vibe you’re setting for the alley, Ez.”
“Oh,” his mouth forms the sound. “The whole guru thing makes sense now.”
“Not to mention, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne’s generous donation to Spare Time.”
“Donation?” Ezra raises his eyebrow and gestures toward his mother. “That was definitely not in the financial statement I sent. How did I not see or hear about this?” He turns to my mom. “Thank you, Rachel.”
Mom nods back.
“Okay, okay. I’m starting to see now that I may not be the best at communicating the important financial stuff with you. I’ll do better, Mijo.”
“I have a feeling the USBC didn’t really care about the finances,” I speak up. “I’ve played at a lot of alleys, and I think they saw how much work and love have been put into Spare Time. They chose you, Ezra.” I reach for his hand, right in front of our delighted mothers.
“They chose us,” Ezra says before leaning over and kissing me on the cheek.
“And speaking of finances,” Mrs. Jiménez calls out. “With the contribution from the Thornes and all the new business Spare Time will be bringing in, I think we’ll need to repay some loans.”
“Loans?” Ezra straightens. “What loans? Mom, you’ve got to start—”
She waves a hand, silencing him. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a check. Ezra takes it carefully, confusion flickering across his face. But the second his eyes land on the amount, his grip loosens.
“Mom…”
I don’t need to see the name on it to know who it’s for.
“I can’t accept this,” he says quietly. “This is the fifteen thousand the USBC is paying Spare Time to host.”
“Exactly. And we’re using it to pay off our last debt. You shouldn’t have had to use your own money for the rest of the bills, Mijo. That was never your responsibility.”
Ezra opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“Say you’ll take it, babe,” I whisper, leaning closer. “You know what you should do with it.”
“But I—”
I wrap my arm around his shoulder. “You have to start thinking about yourself. And I’m going to make sure you do,” I murmur into his ear.
His fingers tighten around the check. “But what about the alley?”
“What about it, Mijo?” Mrs. Jiménez asks.
Ezra’s eyes dart to mine, his head shaking rapidly, panic creeping into his expression like he’s silently begging me to save him from having to admit what he really wants to do with his life.
His grip tightens around the check, shoulders stiff with tension.
But as difficult as it was for me to be honest with my parents, I know Ezra has to do the same with his.