This Tuesday, I’m so engrossed in my business management textbook that I don’t notice the clock tick past six. When the bell above the door jingles, I stand up and paste on my Customer Service Chloe smile as I say, “Good evening and welcome to Nick’s!”

A stocky dude wearing an OSU baseball cap walks up to the counter. “Is Velez here?”

I squint. I’m not used to having questions barked at me by bros. “Excuse me?”

The bro shrugs. “It’s six fifteen. I’ve been waiting out back for fifteen minutes. Is he skipping out on bowling this week or what?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, my good man.”

The door to Nick’s office opens and Nick strides out, pulling on his jacket. “Sorry, let’s go. See you tomorrow, Chloe.”

The bro’s eyebrows raise. “Oooooh. You’re Chloe?”

I nod. “That I am.”

The bro looks from me to Nick a few times. “Okay, okay, okay. I get it.”

“Let’s go, Mooney,” Nick says, not looking at me.

The bro leans over the counter and extends a hand. “I’m Doug, but everyone in our friend group calls me D-Money.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that statement, so I start with the obvious. “Nick has a friend group?”

“Uh, doy?” Doug says. “We meet every Tuesday night for bowling.”

“No one calls you D-Money. I’m headed out the door,” Nick says.

“Nick bowls?”

“Hell yeah, Velez bowls!” Doug shakes his head in wonder and looks at Nick. “You haven’t even told her about bowling?”

“Wow,” I say, relieved that Nick doesn’t have a standing once-a-week sex date with a mysterious stranger. “I wish I could see this.”

Doug’s smile breaks open, like he just had the best idea. “Come with us!”

“Wish I could,” I say with a sigh. “But I’m working.”

Doug gestures around. “It’s frickin’ Tuesday night. This place is a ghost town. Hey, uh, T-shirt dude?”

Doug snaps his fingers at Tobin, who up until this point has been staring into space and thinking about God knows what.

“Yeah?” Tobin asks.

“You gonna care if Chloe skips out tonight? You can . . . uh . . . lock the door, or whatever you have to do?” Doug shrugs.

Tobin looks confused. “Nick doesn’t let me close. He said I can’t be trusted with the keys.”

“He can’t,” says Nick from his place in the doorway. “Chloe, stay here.”

I take off my apron. “Excuse me, I have an invitation from this gentleman to attend a bowling . . . match? Game? Uh, meet? I don’t know bowling terminology.”

Doug claps his hands. “Hell yeah. We’re out of here!”

Nick groans. “Tobin, I’ll be back before close. Just . . . don’t start any fires.”

“That only happened once,” Tobin mutters.

“Three times,” Nick and I say in unison.

I place my hands on Tobin’s shoulders. “I trust you. You can do this.”

Tobin nods. “Have fun bowling.”

Doug shakes his head as I walk out from behind the counter. “Bowling isn’t about fun. It’s about sport. Life. Loss. Those killer nachos they serve at the snack bar.”