Page 90 of The Guy in the Alley

Ben chuckled and slid out of the booth after his boy. “I should warn you, he’s got a competitive streak.”

“Which he got from you,” Elsie pointed out.

“Even better,” I replied. “There are tokens under the register behind the bar. Grab at least ten of them and consider that my investment toward Adam’s downfall. He’s infuriatingly good at pinball.” We only had four games, and pinball was the one that annoyed me the most.

“We’ll see if it’s necessary,” Ben decided. “Son, you want your headphones?”

Alvin hesitated. “Maybe that’s best. I want to concentrate.”

Definitely a competitive streak. I liked that.

Ben grabbed the headphones, and I watched them head toward the other end of the bar, Alvin remaining close to his old man the whole way.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell me to behave,” Elsie noted.

I cracked a grin. “Would you have listened?”

“Of course not,” she laughed. “My son’s in love for the first time, and it appears to be reciprocated.” She eyed me over the rims of her glasses, and my stomach tightened with nerves. Holy fuck, she just put that out there like we were discussing the damn weather. “I have questions.”

Yeah, so did I, Mama O’Cleary.

“Uh, is he?” I had to ask first.

She lifted a brow. “Is that not clear? And before you answer, it’s a genuine question because he can be so dim-witted. Talking isn’t his favorite, especially when it comes to feelings.”

I scratched my jaw and glanced over at the arcade corner. “We’re both pretty bad at that, but I think I’ve gotten better at reading him. He shows me more than he tells.”

She nodded in understanding. “Then I have faith in you. He speaks in his own language, much like Alvin.”

That felt absurdly good to hear. Like, butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of good. Holy shit.

“So how do I give off the reciprocating vibe?” I wondered.

She laugh-snorted and promptly covered her mouth with a hand. “Sorry.”

What the hell?

I grinned, half confused. Was my question that weird?

Amusement lingered in her gaze. “I should clarify that Ben’s been acting strangely about today’s dinner for almost two weeks. First, it was ‘The dinner’s at my friend’s sports bar. I think you’ll like him.’ Then it was Trace this, Trace that, and he got all cranky when I asked if you were more than a friend. And today, on the way over here, he snapped at me—said he didn’t wanna jinx anything.”

Aw, my big oaf. How fucking cute was that. And hilarious.

“So I had my suspicions about him, but I wasn’t sure about you,” she said. “Until you invited his son to your parents’ house in Florida five minutes into dinner.”

Oh. Well…five minutes was a stretch. Fifteen minutes, at least!

“I’m going to tell you a story about my son,” Elsie told me. “Growing up, he was quite popular. He played football—he was good at it—and he had many friends. One in particular. Sheila. A very sweet girl. We always assumed they’d become an item eventually because of how they acted together. Always joking, always laughing, always walking to school together. He even carried her books.”

I had no reason to feel jealous, but I couldn’t help the small spark that shot through me. It was dumb and so uncalled for.

“But as his friends around him started dating, he just…didn’t,” Elsie said. “Sheila confessed her feelings for him sophomore year, and he was devastated because he lost his best friend. He didn’t feel that way about her. About anyone.”

Yup, totally uncalled for. Sorry, Sheila.

“I started worrying that he was homosexual,” Elsie admitted. The tension shifted, and I could tell she felt bad about something. “I’m sure you can imagine how I grew up.”

I nodded with a dip of my chin. The Catholic working class of the fifties and thereabouts? Come on.

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