“I know,” I said, grinning while shaking my head in wonder.
“That’s a ‘you matter to me’ gesture,” she said.
“That’s an ‘I want everyone to see you wearing my name’ invitation,” Finn added.
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I said, but I was still smiling.
The gift had been so thoughtful,soSkyler. It was practical but romantic, confident but sweet.
“It’s quite adorable,” Finn observed from beside me, and coming from Finn, that was practically a sonnet.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.
“I’m not surprised he’s thoughtful. I’m surprised he’s this . . .” Finn paused, choosing his words. “Intentional. He’s making sure everyone knows you’re connected to him.”
There was something odd in his tone that had nothing to do with his Irish lilt.
It wasn’t quite disapproval, not exactly.
It sounded more like the careful caution of someone who’d seen relationships move too fast and crash too hard.
“It’s a jersey, Finn.”
“No, it’shisjersey withhisname . . .Hisjersey that he bought for you to wear tohisgame.” Finn’s expression was unreadable. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m just saying it’s significant.”
“Good significant or bad significant?”
“We’ll see.” Finn shrugged.
“You’re such an optimist, Finnigan,” Benji said, bouncing as we joined the flow of fans. “I think it’s romantic as hell. I mean, imagine being so sure about someone that you want them wearing your name in public.”
“He’s notthatsure,” I said. “We’re still figuring things out.”
“Jacks.” Mia’s voice was gentle but firm. “The man bought you a jersey. He’s not figuring anything out. He’s decided.”
The words hit me somewhere vulnerable.
Because she was right, wasn’t she?
A professional athlete didn’t buy someone a jersey—hisjersey—unless he was pretty damn certain about what it meant.
But what if I wasn’t ready for what that meant?
In all the rush to take care of Skyler and his comingout or bi-awakening or whatever the fuck journey he was on, I hadn’t considered my own.
What if I was still the guy who’d gotten his heart broken by someone who’d thought he wanted this but couldn’t handle the reality of it?
What if I needed more time to be young and single and free?
What if I made a terrible partner? Snored? Shit the bed?
Okay, gross. I wouldn’t do that. Still, what if—
“Stop,” Finn said quietly, reading my expression with the accuracy of an online psychic. “Whatever you’re spiraling about, stop.”
“I’m not spiraling,” came out far too pouty for a grown-ass man.
“You absolutely are. Hell, you’re gripping those bloody tickets so hard you’re going to tear them in half.”
