"Thanks," Grant said. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his towel and scrubbing it over his face. "You should go. You have a busy day. And I have... I have a date."
Thea. The word dropped like a trapdoor.
Emmy stood up, clutching her racquet.
"Right," she said, forcing a bright smile. "Thea. She's going to love you. Just be yourself. But maybe ask her about dead languages too. She'll appreciate the range."
"Dead languages. Got it." He shoved the medical kit back into his bag. "Drive safe, Em."
"You too."
She turned and walked out of the court. She didn't look back.
Emmy got into her car. She started the engine. She sat there for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel.
Grant was West's best friend. That was the only label that mattered. A fixed point in her universe, platonic and permanent.
She pressed her thumb to the inside of her jaw. Where his hand had been. The skin still felt warm, or she was imagining it, and she wasn't sure which was worse.
Grant Knight
Keep your elbow up on the backhand. You drop it when you're tired.
Emmy
Yes, coach.
Grant Knight
Smart ass.
Emmy smiled at her phone. Then caught herself smiling. Then forced herself to stop.
Grant Knight
Drink water. You're going to be sore tomorrow.
Emmy
What about you? How's your hand?
Grant Knight
I'll live. It's not my throwing hand. I'm good.
A pause. Then:
Grant Knight
Thanks again. For the first aid.
Emmy's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
She didn't text back. She couldn't. Because if she did, she might say something true.
So she drove home in silence, Grant's texts glowing on the seat beside her.
CHAPTER SIX
