“Yeah.”
Foster, our kicker, pops up next, stopping beside Ramiel. “Goin’ to Trace’s party tonight?”
“I might,” Ramiel says, then they both look at me.
I shrug. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Are you and Trace still being weird with each other?” Foster asks.
Ramiel shifts his footing.
If I’m choosing between going to Decker Trace’s house and mine, I’ll pick mine every time. Especially if Avery is waiting there. Decker and I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot when I got traded—he claims I went too hard and hit him when he wasn’t ready during a preseason game. I beg to differ. We should always be ready foranything on the field, preseason or not. I don’t think it helped that I might have called him weak in response to whatever bitterness he directed at me after. Since then, it’s been nothing but butting heads. And because he’s well-liked, there’s no doubt it’s put a damper on my friendships with the other guys. Besides ol’ faithful, Ramiel.
I shake my head. “Nah. Just have other plans.”
Foster sucks in a breath, his brows raising, something mischievous taking over his stare. “You’re not ditching for some girl, are you?”
I shake my head again.
“Good.” Foster looks at Ramiel then back to me, his voice lowering. “’Cause I can’t be the only one who saw your little pregame...” He waggles his thick brows.
I frown.
Foster’s eyes dart from Ramiel to me. “The cheerleader. I saw you… ya know.”
My stomach sinks. He saw me do thenose scrunch?
“No. Nah.” I step back, grabbing a towel hanging nearby. My body and mouth move at their own free will as I scrub the rough fabric down my face and try to think of an out. How could I have been so dumb? Cheerleaders can scrunch their noses. That’s a thing for them, right? A player making faces toward the sidelines… directly at the cheerleaders… That’s suspicious. Obvious.
I’m an idiot.
Foster holds his hands up in surrender as a confused Ramiel looks like he wishes he were anywhere but here. So do I. Did Rami see too? I scan the immediate vicinity. Maleko and Decker chat nearby about Lena. She was here tonight. The cameras showed her almost as much as theyshowed the game from what I saw the few times I glanced up at the jumbotron. Before I can fully process what I’m saying, my lips are parting, and the first foul thing that comes to mind spills out.
“Did you see Lena’s skirt?” I ask Decker.
Everyone stops talking and turns to face me.
I rub my extra towel over my hair and down my face to cover the fact that I feel like I want to die. This isn’t who I am. I don’t say things like this. Maybe in a past life that Ty might have said something to ruffle some feathers because shooting first is the surest way to protect yourself. But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m learning. Well, trying to. If there’s one thing I picked up from losing my sister, it’s that speaking out of turn does more harm than good. But I’m desperate, and desperation makes a guy do wild—stupid—things.
And just in case this hasn’t pulled enough attention from Foster’s cheerleader accusations, I land one final blow. Staring Decker straight in the eyes, I add, “What I wouldn’t give to?—”
But I don’t have a chance to finish because Decker is spatting something back at me before whipping me straight in the crotch with his damp towel. I buckle over at the nauseating jolt. A small chorus of laughs and whoops sound off as I try to catch my breath. I clutch my lap to both soothe the sting and keep my towel in place as I dart toward my locker. Maybe that was an overcorrection, but if anyone was talking about Avery and me, this is sure to divert their attention. And if Decker didn’t hate me before, there’s no way he doesn’t now.
I keep to myself the rest of the evening as I pickthrough the protein-heavy postgame catering and chug some electrolyte-infused drinks. When I’ve had enough refueling, I slip out the exit, trek across the player lot, and dive into my SUV. Navigating toward home on the packed streets is actually refreshing. Anything is better than the tension I stirred up after the game. But now my night can begin. Something zips through me. In a few minutes, I’ll be home. On my couch.
And so will Avery.
I’m wondering if she’ll be willing to have our movie date—movienight—tonight. But when I walk through the door, everything is dark. I flip a switch, illuminating the whole first floor. I call her name once, just to check. But there’s no answer. Instead, Dollyboy replies, mewing as he picks up his pace toward me.
“Guys’ night?” I say, crouching down to scratch his head.
He purrs in response.
I drop my stuff on the kitchen island, checking my phone as I make my way to the couch. She didn’t even text. I debate whether I should message her first and ask if she’s okay, but Dolly curls up on my lap and my hands get too busy combing through his fur. I lay my head back against the cushion, closing my eyes to let them rest as visions of Avery literally dance through my head.
I’m still glad I didn’t go to Decker’s, but it would have been nice to not be alone.
Something pushes off my body, and I wake to see Dollyboy racing down the hall, heading straight for the stairs. A door clicks shut upstairs.
