“If you’re going out tonight, don’t be fucking stupid. We still have a game tomorrow,” Coop reminds everyone.
“Can we come hang at your house?” Johnny asks, pivoting, and I know I’m team captain, but that doesn’t mean I want the team at our house tonight. Richards reminds me of an overeager puppy, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why he’s fucking friends with Bradley.
“No,” Coop answers before I can say anything. I need to remember to get him some of that fancy olive oil he likes to use when he cooks as a thank you.
“Why not?” he asks, refusing to drop it.
“Because I don’t want to,” he says, and Nate chuckles.
“Dude, you and your sister could not be more different,” he says, shaking his head when Dylan struts to his stall like a damn peacock flashing his feathers.
“I think I’ve figured it out,” he says, and I’m not sure I want to hear whatever stupid shit is about to come out of his mouth.
“I’ll bite. What’d you figure out?” Nate asks, and Coop sighs.
“Well, I was showering and I thought about how instead of getting Coach’s name tatted on my ass, I’d rather get Jack’s, cause we’re bros for life,” he says, thumping his chest twice with his fist, and I’m not sure I could make this shit up if I tried.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Coop asks, and Dylan holds his hands up.
“It gets better, just wait for me to finish,” Dylan argues, and I shake my head.
“You know, maybe you should stop. I don’t really want to hear about you thinking about me and Coach while you’re in the shower,” I say, turning away as I step into my dress pants, pulling them up.
“It sounds weird when you put it like that,” Dylan says, and I’m not sure what I did to deserve this.
“Maybe because it is weird?” Nate adds.
“Whatever. Anyway, so I was debating which name and which cheek, but then I realized I have two cheeks so why do I have to pick at all when I could get both and have one on each,” he says, and I blink, laughing while I try to figure out if he’s being serious.Oh my god, I think he is.
Nate snorts as he finishes buttoning up his shirt, giving me a look. “This is who you pick as your best friend?”
“Jones might be an idiot, but at least Al didn’t show up wearing his jersey,” I say, slipping into my button-up.
Dylan’s eyes widen, his smile slipping at the mention of Alondra, and I shake my head, trying to be subtle. There wasn’t time before the game to explain everything to Coop and Nate, so we agreed to fill them in after, but first, I need to talk to Alondra.
“You know, you didn’t have to come tonight,” I say, peeking at Alondra sitting in the passenger seat of my truck.
“We made a deal,” Al says, but the deal happened before this afternoon. It happened before I heard the change in her tone, and I felt fear in a way I haven’t since I was a kid. I was able to block it out during the game because I needed to, but I’m trying to find a way to not make what happened with Alondra today about me and my shit.
“I know we did, but . . .” I trail off, flexing my grip on the steering wheel.
“Jack,” she says, and I look at her again. “I don’t want things to be weird.”
“Am I making them weird?” I ask, turning the radio down, hating that we’re caught in traffic on our way back from the stadium.
“Yes.”
I chuckle under my breath. “You didn’t even take any time to think about it. What am I doing?”
“For starters, you haven’t said anything about what I’m wearing, and instead of thanking me for coming to your game tonight, you’re telling meagainI didn’t have to come. You’re making it weird,” she says, and I’m not quite sure I’m following.
“I thought it was standard practice to not comment on what your friends wear, especially if they’re women?” I ask, looking at all the glowing red brake lights in front of us. “Is there a reason you want me to say something about what you’re wearing?”
Alondra groans, huffing. “No.”
“Darlin’, I’m not making things weird, but if you want to pick an argument with me to feel like you’re in control, go for it,” I say, easing off the clutch to let the truck roll forward a few feet. “Thank you for coming to my game, though,” I finish, wishing the line hadn’t started to move so I could look at her.
“I’m not trying to pick an argument with you,” she protests, but I see her shift in her seat out of the corner of my eye. “Okay, maybe I am, but I want us to be normal. Arguing for us is normal, and I don’t want you to treat me differently just because you know about Bradley.”
