He laughed. “What do I have to do in the tryouts? Cry to prove my father fucked me up emotionally by never showing up for me?”
“Or not cry,” I said. “I guess it depends on who makes the rules.”
“Hopefully, it’s not you.”
“Rude.” I frowned. “Why not me? I just came up with the club.”
“You don’t like people, so you’d probably be the only one in the damn thing,” he said. “And you’re a harsh judge. No one will ever live up to your expectations.”
“Wow.” I kept my eyes on the road. “That’s. . .pretty accurate.”
He laughed again, shaking his head.
"Maybe we should have a pretend try-out here, so you don't waste your time trying out," I added. He bit his lip; eyes still amused as he shook his head and looked at the road ahead.
"What does this pretend try-out consist of?"
"Any sob story." I shrugged.
He bit the side of his lips and narrowed his eyes slightly as he thought about it. Finally, after a few moments, he spoke. "On my eighth birthday, my dad was supposed to take me to a hockey game. It was the Bruins against the Maple Leaves," he said. "My mom brought it up all the time. She thought this would redeem him from not coming to any of my games that season."
"He didn't show up?" I whispered.
"He didn't even call." He stopped at a red light and glanced at me.
I felt the air go out of my lungs for a moment. I wasn't sure if the pain was apparent on my face, but I felt it. I thought about him as a little boy–probably the cutest fucking boy–and my heart broke for him. I was okay with my father being too busy for me. I'd even made peace with my mother, following him around everywhere and leaving me behind all the time. But I hated that for Lachlan. He may have been a player and an asshole, but I knew he was a good guy. Besides, no kid deserves to be given broken promises by someone who was supposed to protect them and show them how the world worked.
“Your dad sucks,” I said after a moment.
He laughed as he started driving again. We were quiet for a moment before he broke the silence.
“You know my favorite part about Coach Bev’s speech?” he asked quietly as he parked at the curb, in front of my apartment building.
“Let me guess, the heart of gold part.”
“Close second.” His lip twitched.
“What part?” I asked. I despised guessing games.
“Don’t sound so excited,” he said when I deadpanned my answer. “I wouldn’t want to think you’re interested in me.”
“If you think that, you’d be lying to yourself.”
“Would I be lying to myself, though?” He raised an eyebrow. I didn’t understand how he did it — I was numb one minute, and the next, my heart was beating out of control. He glanced over when we got to a red light. “One of these days, Lyla James.”
I looked out the window to hide the smile I felt forming. Not only did he make me feel; for a moment, he made me forget what broke me, to begin with. Just for a moment, but those moments added up. He also never quit flirting with me and trying to get me to cave, and for some really, really dumb reason, I loved it.
“I see your reflection, you know,” he said. I jolted and looked at him. He glanced away, two guys bouncing a basketball up the sidewalk catching his attention as he spoke, “What she said about your smile was my favorite part.”
Weird.“Why?”
“Because you don’t give it up freely.” He met my gaze. “But when you do, it’s fucking magical.”
I wondered if he said things like this to all the girls he was trying to sleep with. Something told me he didn’t have to say much to get them in his bed. I squeezed my hands on my lap and turned my attention to the bouncing basketball.
“Why’d you quit?” he asked again.
“Do you want the truth or what I tell everyone?” I asked, looking over at him.
