“Did you hear something, Nebs?”
“Hear something, Michaels? Nope, not a thing.”
Assholes. But it’s really an endearment. I do appreciate them.
They unceremoniously drop me and shove me into the backseat, and I grunt as my head bashes into the roof. Okay, Ikind ofappreciate them. They could have been a little gentler.
“We’re finding you a pretty miss to get you out of your slump,” Paulie says. “Operation save a horse, ride a Cowboyin action.”
Shane snorts and holds up his fist for Paulie to dab. “Brilliant, Nebs.”
We settle in a booth with a pitcher of beer fifteen minutes later.
“All right. What’s your type, Winters?” Paulie asks.
The beer in my gut sloshes uncomfortably. I don’t really have a type. Because I don’t really have much interest in sleeping with anyone. Not sure I want to admit that. It wasn’t Shelby’s looks that brought us together, though I do think she’s pretty. It was the fact that she was kind and genuinely seemed to like my quirks—thought they wereadorable.
You’re this six-two sexy wall of muscle, E. Yet you have these little awkward quirks and stumble in social interactions. It’s so endearing that sometimes I’m worried my heart will explode.
So, yeah. That’s me. Bumbling badass ballplayer.
“Beer. Beer’s my type,” I say instead and swallow down half my pint.
Shane laughs. “Come on, man. We’re trying to be your wingmen. Plus, we’ve got the easiest pickup line now.” He drops his voice to a sexy drawl. “Want to know what a night’s like with a pro ballplayer?”
Paulie cackles. “Depends on what kind of ballplayer you are, bro. That line might not land the way you think it will.”
I snicker, but it fades away as I’m immediately assaulted with thoughts of Maddy. I bet he’d have loved that line. He was so good at picking up. The queer men of GCSU definitely wanted to know about his ball-playing abilities. I bet he’s enjoying all sorts of ball playing right now. Urgh. Fuck. I refill my glass and throw back more beer.
Shane’s grin widens. “Hey, I might not be into dudes, but I’m all for it if they want to appreciate me.”
I roll my eyes, and Paulie and I share a look. Shane’s a huge flirt and an attention whore. I’m not surprised in the least that he wants to be appreciated by all genders—or non-genders. Allpeople.
Paulie leans forward and says in an overloud whisper, “I should sic Frankie on him.”
Frankie is Paulie’s older brother. He’s a major fuckboy and also happens to be queer. He’d have too much fun toying with Shane and his attention-whore ways.
Not gonna lie, I’m a bit jealous of Frankie. He’s the epitome of sex. Dark hair, dark eyes, flawless olive skin, and walks around like he knows how hot he is. And he throws out Italian every once in a while—in a perfect accent, even though he and Paulie don’t even speak it fluently—which just adds to his appeal. He learned all the dirty phrases, of course. Apparently, it scores him hook-ups every time.
Then there’s me. Who says things like, “Hey-ho, howdy.” When Shelby had first asked me out, I think I said something along the lines of, “That would be coolio.” Coolio. I don’t think that’severbeen coolio to say. I am the antithesis of Frankie.
Let’s just say, I’m happy Frankie won’t be meeting Maddy.
My gut squirms, and I top off my beer from the fresh pitcher the waitress just placed in front of us. That’s probably not a fair thought. Maddy can be with whoever he wants. He’s my best friend. I wash down the tightness in my throat with more beer. Hemightstill be my best friend. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. He should find his person.
My lungs spasm, and pain rips through my chest. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I put my glass to my lips and don’t put it down until I’ve finished the entire pint. I slam it down on the table, breathing heavily. That’s when I register the silence.
I glance up, my attention bouncing between a wide-eyed Paulie and Shane.
“Dude. We’ve been here for like a hot second, and that was—what?—three beers?” Paulie says slowly.
I open my mouth, but no words surface. Something else, something so much worse, threatens. I slam my fist to my mouth to stifle the sob. The buzz in my brain swirls with the storm of emotion brewing inside me. Fans the flames, encourages it. I need to get out of here. I need air.
I practically leap from the booth and hustle to the bathroom, barely keeping myself from breaking into a run. I hurry past it to the back exit, then shove through the door. The cool South Carolina night hits me, and I suck in a long draught, letting that late-September air soothe my straining lungs.
I smack my palm against the brick wall of the building, a half-yell, half-sob ripping from my throat. Fuck Maddox. Why the fuck is he doing this to me? To us? He’s being a fucking coward. Won’t even talk to me? Won’t even tell me what the fuck is going on? My blood burns like lava, so hot I’m surprised I’m not breathing steam.
It’s such classic fucking Maddy. He gets upset and goes radio silent. Well, it’s not fucking fair. And it’s not fucking cool. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. He owes me an explanation.
