He gives me a small nod, then nudges the second cup toward me. “Hazelnut latte, no sugar, drizzle of honey,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches when he sees the look on my face. “What?”
I let out a disbelieving laugh and shake my head. “I’m surprised you remembered that. Thank you.”
Adrian shrugs. “You mentioned that you only have hazelnut lattes in the middle of the day, since you prefer not to drink a lot of caffeine after 3 p.m. I tend to remember things about my friends.”
He says it so casually, not realizing how much it means to me that he remembered somethingIdon’t even remember saying yesterday. The consideration makes my chest feel all warm again, and I lift the cup to have a sip.
Adrian studies me for a moment, fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug, then asks, “You okay today?” The tone of hisvoice is careful, the way you ask when you actually want to hear the answer.
It’s a simple question, but I don’t exactly have a simple answer. I hesitate, wrapping both hands around the ceramic, feeling the warmth seep into my palms, and let my gaze drop to the table. “I’m…” I pause, searching for accuracy while my thumb drags back and forth over the mug. “Tired, but not bad.”
He nods at my answer, lips pressing together. After a beat, he glances down at the table, then back at me, and hesitates before speaking. “Damien said you felt that living in the Sin Bin was too performative, and I wanted to say that I get it.”
My eyes widen in surprise, and I lift my head, searching his face for a tell. “He did?” The words slip out sharper than I mean.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “He mentioned it when we were shooting hoops in the back the day you left.”
Letting out a sigh, I decide to be honest because pretending would be pointless. “I… Everything got a bit too much for me. The parties, the dinners, needing to always be up for ‘fun.’ Everyone is loud, and if you don’t match their energy, they assume you’re upset. Or rude.”
Adrian’s gaze holds mine for a second longer than I expect. “You’re not rude, but they don’t mean any harm, I promise. They just… don’t notice when the noise isn’t fun.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Exactly that.”
He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table and tilting his head, watching me in that way that makes it hard to hide anything.
“You know…” he trails off, his eyes dropping to his cup before darting back to me. “I don’t like the parties, either.”
I blink, caught off guard by the admission, and set my mug down. “You don’t?” I ask, trying to remember if I’ve ever actually seen Adrian at the parties or just assumed he was there because everyone else was.
Adrian shakes his head. “I go because I have to, since I’m one of the top athletes living at Blackthorne’s unofficial frat house. That, and my mom is a coach to some of the best collegiate athletes in Cali, so I have to be‘close friends with the King and Devereaux boys’according to her,” he says, rolling his eyes on the last words. “I love the guys, and they’re some of my best friends, but I’ve perfected the art of bullshitting, at this point.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile that with the image I have of Adrian as unbothered, calm, and always steady. “What happens if you don’t go to the parties? And don’t give me that‘it’s mandatory’excuse Ryan gave me.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but it’s gone just as quickly. “If I don’t go, they’ll ask questions. I don’t being put on the spot.”
That sounds like something I would say, so I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “I get that.”
That ghost of a smile from before curves into a real one, and I notice dimples I didn’t realize he had. He hides the smile by taking a quick sip of coffee, then sets the cup down and lets out a quiet sigh, drumming his fingers against the table.
“Wanna know something no one knows about me?” he asks, his voice dropping as if the secret will spill out and ruin us both.
The sudden subject change makes me sit up straighter. “What? Uhm… yes, of course. Sure.”
“I don’t…” he trails off, and I can see him swallowing hard. “I don’t really want to be a goalie forever. Yeah, I’m good at it—I know I’m good—but it feels as if I’m living someone else’s plan.”
I sit very still and don’t interrupt him, my heart in my throat because it sounds like he’s taken those words right out of my mouth. I watch the way his knuckles whiten against his coffee cup, and I don’t breathe for a second.
He exhales slowly. “My dad played soccer, so it was his thing before his big injury. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,and I went along with it because… well, he’s my dad and we were close. He was so fucking happy when I got my full ride.”
I realize he’s speaking in the past tense when his smile suddenly turns sorrowful, and I want to reach across the table but keep my hands where they are, afraid to push. “But then… then he died a month before I started at Blackthorne, and I had to pretend I wanted this. I couldn’t leave because it felt like I was spitting on his memory, so… here I am. Pretending is easier than fighting with my mother about leaving.”
“Oh, my god, Adrian,” I say, swallowing back tears for him. “I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine…”
He shakes his head. “It’s alright, I guess. I feel closer to him when I’m on the field. But when I’m in classes or alone, I don’t think about soccer at all. I think about… other things.”
He blushes and looks away when he says this, and now I’m even more intrigued. “What things?” The question slips out, curiosity making me bold.
“Music,” he immediately says, and when he meets my eyes again, there’s a sparkle in them. “Sound design. I mess around with editing and mixing; it’s what I’m studying here. I don’t tell the guys that I’m good at mixing because they’d ask me to make them playlists, and I’d rather die.”
