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“What the hell are you doing?” I ask him in awe because what the fuck?

“Inviting you to dinner. Maybe we can play Fortnite.”

I stare at him, my mouth agape. He can’t be real. I’m starting to think something is really wrong with him. Anyone else would have been thrilled to get rid of me—especially after what I told him about Austin. But he’s making small talk about breakfast for dinner and inviting me over to his house.

“No,” I say simply.

“Why not?” He’s so casual.

“Did you bump your head or something?” I keep my voice low, looking around for anyone who’s paying too much attention, then look back at him. “Did you forget what happened at the lake?” My cheeks heat, just thinking about it. About my body pressed against his. About tasting his lips and drinking down his soft whimpers.

“Something happened?” he asks, wide-eyed and innocent, but I see the mirth dancing in his eyes. It’s playful. Not cruel. I don’t get him.

“No.” I clear my throat and stand up straight, putting more distance between us. “Nothing happened, and I’m not coming over to your house. Leave me alone,” I say, though it hurts like hell to say it.

It hurts even more to walk away from him, but I manage to do it and avoid him for most of the rest of the day. Practice, though, makes it unavoidable, it seems.

And he takes full advantage.

Every play we run, he’s talking to me. Telling me I’m doing a great job and that we’ve totally got this on game day. Pats me on the shoulder and raising his hand for high fives—which I don’t reciprocate.

By the end of practice, I’m beat, mostly from trying to run away from his ass—which is really not what a left tackle is supposed to do with his quarterback. What the hell is he thinking?

After my extremely quick shower, I get dressed and haul ass for the parking lot, but he must have known that was my plan because he rushed through his own shower and getting dressed too—on my heels the whole way.

When we reach our trucks, I stop, scan the parking lot and see no one near before walking right up to him. We’re standing toe-to-toe, and I’m breathing hard. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you it doesn’t have to be weird. That we can still hang out. You still need a friend, right?” He puts his hand on his chest. “I’m that friend.”

“I don’t need friends,” I say, leaning in to get into his face, which backfires because I can see his plump lips, my own tingling at the reminder of just how good those lips feel against my own.

“Then I do.”

I scoff and step back. “No. You don’t.”

His grin is crooked, and he’s as confident as ever as he looks at me, his head cocked to the side. “Just come over. Jenna’s pot roast really is pretty good.”

I know I’m supposed to say no. I should continue to push him away, but the truth is it’s nice to have a friend again. I hate myself for it just a little bit, but I give a subtle nod, and he knows he’s getting his way.

Does he ever not with me?

I sigh heavily and walk over to my truck, pulling open the door and climbing in before driving to his house.

Jenna and the girls greet us happily before Jonah tugs me to his bedroom to play Fortnite—which we do for over an hour before Jenna knocks on the door and tells us it’s dinnertime.

It’s loud and chaotic with the girls, but I can’t help watching how loving Jenna is with them. She dotes on them and asks them about their day. She asks Jonah, Micah, and me too. I answer with a rough, “It was fine,” but she doesn’t seem irritated by my limited response.

“Well, maybe tomorrow will be better than fine.” She says it with a bright smile and then looks over at Jonah and winks.

He grins. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow will be okay.”

“Or average,” Micah says, and I know they’re all teasing me, but it’s in such a weird, oddly kind way. Like I’m in on the joke. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time.

Which makes no sense.

Just two days ago, I did something I promised I would never do in this town again. I kissed a guy. And instead of pushing him away or threatening him, I’m here, eating delicious pot roast with his family. It makes no sense at all.

But I don’t want to change it either. No matter how detrimental it could be. I’d say my life at school couldn’t really get any worse, but I know better than to say that. It can always get worse.