I sighed.“Taran.”
“Friend of yours?”She eyed me sideways so I’d know she meantsomeone you’ve fucked?
Yeah, I’d learned the hard way not to tell Kacey anything personal.I just shrugged.“Your mom’s friend’s kid, I think.Kovacs.”
“Oh, for real?Uncle Brandon is really going after him.”
Uncle Brandon was a sixty-year-old washed-up football coach from the next county over, so yeah, that tracked.I was about to talk some shit about him but paused when I noticed that Taran’s baby blues looked oddly unfocused.He was surrounded by mostly middle-aged men, all of them talking at him rather than to him.And he was just nodding now and then, his jaw flexing visibly, face otherwise expressionless.
Fuck, I’d been joking about wanting rescued if I started dissociating.He apparently had been serious.
“Be right back,” I lied, heading directly toward him.I started to pick up snatches of conversation:
“I saw you run the ball in for a touchdown early on, though.We all really thought you were going to be there for a good long while.”
“You’re better off.CTE is a real problem,” said one of the guys from Taran’s mom’s table.
“Ah, these guys are sissies nowadays.If you don’t want me to hit the quarterback, put him in a dress,” said another one.“That’s what your dad used to say, Kovacs.”
Ew.
I sashayed up to them deliberately, and Taran’s eyes lit up.Which was nice, but he probably would’ve been happy to see anyone who wasn’t obsessed with bullshit small town sportsball.I said, “Kovacs, can you help me with something for the bride?”
“Uh, yeah, of course.Happy to help.”He raised his glass to the cluster around him.“See you around, huh?”
They kept talking around him, though a few acknowledged his departure with something like warmth.When he fell in step beside me, he muttered, “Jesus, man, thanks.”
“What the fuck?”I asked, making for the front door.Needed a smoke anyhow.
“It’s always like this when I go to anything in this county.Everyone wants to talk about the goddamn glory days.”He snorted and stuffed his free hand into his jacket pocket.His tie was loose now, his top button undone.He was either trying to get comfortable or on his way to getting drunk.
“What, you don’t?”I snorted right back.“You used to soak that shit up.”
“I didn’t soak it up,” he protested, then grimaced.“I loved the game.I was good at it.It was fun.”
“It got you laid.”
He shot me a look.“Obviously.”
“That’s not why I sucked your dick, Kovacs.”
He laughed and opened the door, then stood aside to let me out first.“Why did you?”
“Because you looked so desperate, I took pity on you,” I lied.
“Uh-huh.”He smiled like he knew better.
I walked around the side of the building so no one coming or going would bitch about my smoke.He followed, sipping at his drink and smiling.I leaned against the brick wall and lit the cigarette behind my hand, then took a nice, long drag to give me that momentary spin.I was trying to quit, so I only did four or five a day, max.It was nicer, though.They actually hit.
“What happened to you anyhow?”I wondered.
“What?”
I nodded toward the door.“You didn’t play all the way through college, right?”
He raked a hand through his well-pomaded hair, leaving it adorably fucked up.“Nah.”
“How come?”
