The statement has me glancing away from where Logan leans against the wall a little bit down the hallway, still engrossed in his phone. My gaze collides with Quinton’s, who seemingly appeared out of thin air. His hair is wet from his recent shower, and one brow is arched behind the black frames perched on his nose.
But it’s when I notice his lips tilt up in a knowing smirk that I realize guilt must be written all over my damn face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you played a great game, man.”
It’s my best attempt at nonchalance, but it’s one Quinton sees right through, unfortunately.
“Oh, I know I killed it out there, but we’re not talking about hockey.” He motions toward my face, which has since drawn into a frown. “What? You think I don’t recognize that look?”
“I don’t—”
He laughs lightly and wraps an arm around my shoulder.“Ah, Cam. How easily you forget, I also fell for a Reed. So that look? It’s one I’ve worn many times myself.”
My teeth snag the flesh of my inner cheek, wishing like hell I could deny the insinuation he’s making. A few weeks ago, I still could have. But the wall between real and fake has slowly been crumbling down ever since the banquet,and if the way it felt to hold him in my arms this morning is any indication, I can hardly tell the difference anymore.
I like Logan. IwantLogan.
In a way that’s the furthest thing from fake.
“Damn,” Quinton murmurs, pulling me from my thoughts as he releases me. “You’ve got it worse than I thought.”
Shifting my gaze to Logan again, I murmur, “That obvious, huh?”
“To me? Absolutely. But like I said, I’ve been there.”
Oakley pops out of the locker room then, wordlessly pressing his lips to the side of Quinton’s head before heading over to where his parents are waiting. I track his movements, noting the way his steps slow as he passes his brother—almost as if he wants to stop, but then decides better of it.
Another wave of guilt crashes into me, stealing my breath, before my attention returns to Quinton.
Swallowing roughly, I ask, “Oakley’s not gonna kill me for this, right?”
“For what?”
“Me and Logan.”
Quinton’s brows draw together, and he crosses his arms. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why would you think that?”
“Because Logan’s his little brother. And I’m…me?”
“You are you. Well spotted,” Quinton confirms with a low chuckle. “But I fail to see why that’d make Oakley upset. You know he loves you, despite your…antics, at times.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” I mutter, my focus shiftingaway again, falling to the floor this time. “With my history of doing stupid shit and slutty reputation, maybe he thinks I’m not good enough to be with Logan.”
It’s not until the words leave my mouth that I notice how true they are.
When this whole thing started back in October, I wasn’t really concerned with Oakley’s opinion. Yeah, I didn’t really want him to be pissed about me dating his brother, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t real. As long as Logan and I both knew the score, that’s all that really mattered.
But the game has changed, and wanting him for real makes his family’s opinion of me a helluva lot more important.
When I have the balls to look at Quinton again, I find him studying me in a way that’s distinctly Oakley—something that must’ve rubbed off on him in the couple years they’ve been together.
“Not to play therapist, but…do you think it’s possible you’re projecting a little bit?” he offers, his tone challenging but sincere. “I mean, you’re far from a monogamist, yes. But I wasn’t much better before he and I got together, as I’m sure you remember. And don’t even get me started onHoldenbeing his best friend.” He shrugs, a little grin appearing. “If that’s any indication, Oakley isn’t one to judge from notches on a bedpost. We’d all be screwed otherwise.”
Deep down, I know he’s right. But it’s not enough to erase the worry.
I shake my head before tipping it back to stare up at the ceiling, as if the solution to easing my fears lies somewhere in the plaster and drywall.
“I just don’t want him to hate me.”
