“How did you?—”
“He NEVER ate spinach before this season.” He points at Zach and shakes his head. “Linda Smith. Spinach smoothies. You two are the worst secret-keepers I’ve ever met. Ride or die, and I say that with love and also genuine concern for your future.”
The door scrapes shut behind him. His footsteps fade and then it’s just us and the hot tub and the city.
Zach hasn’t moved. “He knew all day,” he says. “And he didn’t tell me.”
“He wanted you to have the game.”
“He let me play a Game 7 completely focused because he—” He stops and opens his eyes, staring up at the sky. “I don’t deserve him.”
“You do.”
“I lied to his face every day for seven months.”
“So did I. And he sat in a deck chair and called us dumb and said ride or die.” I turn in the water to face him and his hands find my waist under the surface. “That’s Rodriguez. That’s just who he is.”
“He called us hall-of-fame dumb,” Zach says.
“We are hall-of-fame dumb.”
“Accurate.” He kisses my forehead. “We should go inside. I’m turning into a lobster.”
“Five more minutes.”
“Mackie.”
“Three more minutes.”
“If someone else comes up here?—”
“Nobody is coming up here. We’re fine.” I press my face against his neck. “Two more minutes. Then we go inside and you hold me and we sleep.”
Tomorrow we start Round 2 and the secret gets heavier and my dad is one hallway, one unlocked phone, one too-long glance away from finding out, and none of that exists yet. Right now it’s just the hot tub and the steam and him.
Two more minutes.
Back in his apartment,my hair is dripping on his floor. I’m wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else, standing in the kitchen drinking water when he comes up behind me and places his mouth on my neck.
“I thought you were tired,” I say, but I’m already tilting my head to give him more room.
“I was until I saw you in my shirt.” His hand edges under the hem of the t-shirt and down and I grab the edge of the counter because my knees feel like they’re not going to hold me up.
“You have no idea what you looked like in the water.” He whispers. “When you climbed in my lap I almost lost it.” His fingers press harder and I roll my hips against him. “I wanted to pull you down and feel you but we were outside and I just had to sit there.” He slides his fingers through me and starts up a rhythm that has me whimpering. “I’m not sitting there now. Come, Mackie.”
I bite down on my lip, trying to control it, to hold on, to make it last but I can’t and I come, wedged between his body and the counter and he doesn’t move until I’m done.
“Rodriguez might have come back and heard us,” I say, still breathing hard.
“He didn’t.”
“He MIGHT have.”
“Doe that bother you?”
I look at him. He’s looking at me, and he knows the answer, I don’t even have to respond.
“Come to bed, Mackie,” he says, and kisses my forehead. I let him lead me down the hall and somewhere below all of the want is the knowledge that we’re one round closer to the conversation I’ve been dreading since October.
