He lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “You know Kolby better than I do. What do you think it would take to convince him you’re ready for a real relationship?”
A real relationship. One where we go to bars and frat parties and the movies and I’m not afraid to hold his hand or kiss him on the cheek. Or even the lips.
Am I ready for that?
I think about the alternative—seeing him in class or around campus and not being able to be with him—and an icy chill runs through me.
Yeah, I’m ready. I have to be ready. The only other option isn’t an option.
Now if only I could figure out a way to prove that to Kolby.
“Hey.” Lex picks up the Brooklyn Barons pillow my mom got me when I was drafted and throws it at me, nailing the side of my head. It’s a good thing my beer is empty, or I’d be wearing it. “You okay over there?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for the advice.” I toss the pillow back at him, slide off the bed, and cross to the mini fridge under my desk. “You want another beer? We can watchUmbrella Academy. Or something else if you want. Unless you need to get back to your girl.”
“Nah. She won’t move until morning. Another beer andUmbrella Academysound great to me.”
I pull two cans out of the fridge and give one to Lex, who hands me his empty to throw in the trash. Then I pop the top on mine before rejoining him on the bed and booting up my laptop.
Today has been a fucking rollercoaster. I’ve gone from the highest high of scoring the game-winning goal to the lowest low of watching helplessly as Kolby walked away from me. But tomorrow is brand new day. And tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to win him back.
14
Kolby
Improv class is usually the highlight of my week.
Not this week.
My feet are definitely dragging when I climb the steps to Mooney Hall on Monday. And the reason for my change of heart can be summed up in one short, simple, painful word.
Adam.
It will be the first time I’ve seen him since the scene at the Biscuit on Friday night. Assuming he shows up. I wouldn’t put it past him to bail. I don’t know which I’m rooting for. If he shows, I have to face him. If he doesn’t, it’s like the final nail in the coffin of our so-called relationship.
Adam is nowhere to be seen when I walk into class. Instead, the first face I see is Josh’s. I duck my head and find a seat on the other side of the room, hoping he won’t spot me, but he does and heads my way.
“Hey, Kolby,” he says, sliding into the seat next to me. “I had a great time the other night.”
My stomach churns. I’m such an idiot. As crappy as Adam treated me after the game, I shouldn’t have made things worse by showing up at the Biscuit with Josh. It wasn’t fair to Adam. And it sure as heck wasn’t fair to Josh. The guy’s had a crush on me since freshman year, and he hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.
I was hurt. And angry. And not entirely rational. None of that is any excuse, but it’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I texted Josh and asked him to meet me the other night. And now I’m paying the price for my stupid need to make Adam jealous.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer evasively, not able to look Josh in the eye. He must think it’s strange that I’ve developed a sudden fascination with the strings on my sweatshirt.
“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he suggests. “There’s this wine bar on Church Street that’s supposed to be LGBTQ-friendly. We could check it out this weekend.”
“Vino and Veritas,” I say, almost reflexively. “It’s a wine bar and bookstore. I work on the bookstore side.”
I manage to drag my eyes up to meet Josh’s. He’s not a bad-looking guy. And despite the awkward, not-so-subtle crush he’s been harboring for me, he’s pretty nice too. But he’s no Adam, and right now my broken heart is stuck on that stupid hockey jock.
“Does that mean you get an employee discount?” Josh asks hopefully.
I don’t get the chance to answer because Professor Frost sweeps in with his usual fanfare, dropping his briefcase and cape on his desk and plugging his cell phone into a portable speaker. Still no sign of Adam. He’s never late for class, so I guess he’s decided to skip it.
I’m equal parts relieved and resentful.
Professor Frost does that irritating hand-clapping thing he’s so fond of, snapping me out of my stupor. “Greetings, class, and welcome to the start of another wonderful week. Today we’ll be playing one of my favorite improv games, soap opera. I’ll need two volunteers.”
