He’s the only guy I know who’s legitimately in touch with his feelings.
My gaze slides to the Bearded Wonder. He’s slicing his fruit like Miss Manners is going to pop in and evaluate his technique at any minute.
Vaughn must sense me staring at him, because he looks up. “What?”
I smirk. “Nothing. Just admiring your delicate table manners.”
“Watch carefully,” he shoots back. “I’m sure you could learn a thing or twenty.”
Yeah, there’s no way am I asking him for advice. I’d never hear the end of it.
Which reminds me…
I turn to Reid. “Where did you spend the night? I noticed your bed wasn’t slept in.”
He scrapes the last of the eggs from his plate and pops them in his mouth, taking his sweet ass time. “The high school recruits kept me busy.”
It sounds like a bullshit excuse to me, but what do I know? Coach would never ask me to babysit a bunch of eager underagers. Just another perk of my well-deserved reputation.
Parker narrows his eyes. “They kept you busyallnight?”
“I asked Johnson to watch them for a couple of hours while I was at study group, so naturally he got them wasted.” Reid stands and collects the empty dishes. “I came back to find them puking their guts out and then campus police showed up.”
Parker grimaces. “Coach is gonna be pissed.”
“They didn’t take names.” Reid shrugs, not meeting my stare. “With any luck, Coach won’t find out.”
Yeah-fucking-right.
There’s more to the story. Something Reid isn’t saying. I’ve known him long enough to know when he’s holding back, but I’ve got my own problems to deal with right now. If he wants to talk, he knows where to find me.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and pull up my messages.
Nothing.
Disappointment nips at my consciousness, but I shut that shit down.
Getting up in your feelings never solves anything. Better to take action.
Like texting Quinn.
To make sure she got home safely.
I tap out a quick message, my thumb hovering over the send button.
What am I doing? I’m not the kind of guy who texts the morning after. It sends the wrong message. One that implies strings.
I tap the backspace key, deleting the message one letter at a time.
If Quinn needs something, she’ll let me know.
Just like she said goodbye this morning?
She’s never been shy before.
There’s a first time for everything.
Screw it. I’m overcomplicating things. It’s a text message. Not a marriage proposal.
