We pop the tops and drink.
“Kaitlyn okay?” I ask after I’ve taken a long, slow, swig that, while refreshing, does nothing to ease the ache that’s taken up residence in my chest.
“Yeah. Took me a while to get her out of the Biscuit. But like I predicted, she was out cold as soon as she hit the sheets.”
I wince. “She’s gonna feel it in the morning.”
“For sure.”
We drink silently for a minute. Then Lex nudges my knee with his.
“What’s the deal with this guy?”
“Kolby,” I supply.
“So you guys are—what? Friends? Fuck buddies? More?”
“After tonight, I’m not sure we’re anything.”
“Let me guess. He heard Slags being Slags and dumped you because you didn’t step in and shut him up.”
I raise my beer in a pseudo-mocking salute. “Yup.”
Lex grimaces. “Slags is an asshole. And trust me, Tate or I will deal with him and his piss-poor attitude. But the rest of us couldn’t care less if you’re bi, gay, pan, or whatever. You’re a Moo U Bull. And Bulls stick together.”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. But it’s one thing knowing it and another thing hearing it from the lips of someone the entire team respects.
“Thanks, man.”
He kicks off his shoes and scoots back on the bed so he can lean against the wall. “What are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
“About Kolby, dumbass.”
“I don’t know that there’s anything I can do.”
“Of course there is. Do you like this guy?”
“Yeah, I do.” I like spending time with him. I like the way I feel when I’m with him. Relaxed. Happy. Like I can lower all the masks I wear on a daily basis—jock, student, dutiful son—and be appreciated for just being myself.
“Then you have to fight for him. Admit you fucked up, and show him you’re going to try like hell not to do it again.”
“How am I supposed to show him that?”
“Here.” He pulls a leather rope with a crystal hanging from it from around his neck and presses it into my palm. “Maybe this will help you come up with something.”
“What the hell is it?”
“A rainbow moonstone. Coach Garfunkle says if you keep it close to your skin, it will clear the bad energy invading your chi. Whatever that means.”
Magnus Garfunkle is our assistant coach. He’s also got certificates in transcendental meditation, Buddhist theory, and Reiki. Meaning he’s about as woo-woo as they come.
“You’ve been waiting for the chance to dump this thing on someone, haven’t you?”
His smile tells me everything I need to know. “I plead the fifth.”
I stick the stone in the pocket of my jeans, shoving the cord in after it. “Is that all you got?”
