“Act like an idiot.”
Jay clears his throat. “Don’t waste time. We know he’s a loggerhead. Start talking, man.”
I rub my fingers together. “Okay. So, we hung out. Watched TV ‘til late. Then things got…heated. We dry-humped on the couch. I, uh, made her come. Now she won’t speak to me, not really, and when she does it…it’s weird.”
Riley whistles low. “I have to mark this on my calendar. You’ve never talked this…much.”
Jay swats Riley’s arm. “Shut up.” Then to me: “Honestly, I see how she looks at you. She wants you.”
I shrug. “She didn’t throw me off the couch, so I guess she does. Sometimes. But why the cold shoulder?”
“She’s embarrassed,” Riley says. “She’s into you—way into you—but too shy to say so. You need to make a move.”
“A move?” I echo.
“Yeah,” Jay nods. “But first, decide what you want. Just physical, or something serious?”
I glance at my cracked cleats by the bench. “I—I really like her. But she’s also my lawyer…”
Riley grins. “When you, Colton King, says ‘really like,’ bro, that’s practically love.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Please…”
Jay shrugs. “He’s got a point. You hate plenty of people. And sometimes yourself.Really like herdoes sound like she’s special.”
I exhale, tension easing. “I like talking to her.”
“That’s it,” Riley says, throwing up both of his hands. “You want to keep her. Now speak up.”
Jay and Riley burst into laughter, then silence. Riley leans close. “Tell her straight: ‘I want you, babygirl.’”
I rub my palms on my shorts. “Right.”
“Maybe cook for her,” Jay suggests. “Practice before pickup—get groceries, light a candle—show you care.”
My forehead creases. “Guys, I have a kid. She’ll be at that table you know.”
“That’s part of the charm,” Riley winks. “Dinner’s foreplay. Then pin her to the wall and say, ‘I like you.’” He growls the last part in a caveman voice, puffing out his chest and beating it once with his fist. If this is supposed to be me, then I’m guessing I’m expected to throw a punch now.
“That’s how you landed your wife?” I ask.
“Basically,” he laughs.
“Caveman,” I mutter but can’t stop my stupid smile.
“Don’t quiz my love life,” Riley says, raising his hands.
I fold my wet jersey over my shoulder. “Okay. Cooking, then talking.”
“Exactly,” Riley says. “Make it nice—candles, tablecloth, the works.”
“I’m not doing Hollywood romance.”
“Yeah Riley, that’s cheesy,” Jay says.
I shake my head, smiling. “Alright, idiots. I’ll text you if it works.”
“Wait—got something for you.” Jay digs in his duffel and pulls out two royal-blue Falcon jerseys. “One for Livy, one for yourwife.”
