Page 17 of Off Sides

He shuts the door behind him, and I swear the sound is still vibrating in my ears when he drops his bag next to the door. “Jenna should be able to keep them occupied, but the closed door will deter them a little if they make their way back here.”

Right.

I look around the room. A simple twin bed, a desk, and a dresser is all that occupies the small, slightly boring room. Jonah must pick up on my nosiness as he sits down on the bed. “I just moved in, and since I’m heading to college next year, I didn’t really see the need to take over the place.”

I nod, still clinging to the strap of my backpack, unsure what to do.

“You can put your bag over there and take a seat. Get comfortable.”

What the hell is he doing? What is all this about? Did Coach ask him to befriend me or something? The lonely loser. Or is it worse? A sinister plan to fuck with me to fit in with the rest of the team?

I don’t move, and he watches me carefully. “I thought we were doing homework. Don’t we need our bags for that?”

He laughs easily. Does everything come easy to him? “You really want to do homework?”

“What else would we do?” I ask, hating that my voice trembles slightly, looking at him on the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he makes himself more comfortable.

And why shouldn’t he be comfortable? It’s his bed. It’s his room. I’m the oddball. I’m the one who doesn’t belong here. Everything inside me is telling me to dart through that door and never come back, but the soft way he’s looking at me right now—not judgmental. Not aggressive. Not making fun of me but just waiting for me to join him.

“Come sit down,” he says quietly, still not in a demanding way.

I drop my bag next to his and walk closer to him, but instead of joining him on the bed, I take a seat in his desk chair. “What are we doing here?” I ask, pushing my hand through my hair that’s still a little wet from my shower. Asking him but also asking myself.

“I think you could use a friend,” he says, sitting up a little and scooting closer to me, a playful smirk on his mouth. “I’m a really good friend.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes at him, but also . . . I think he’s serious. And I think he could be.

Which is just . . .

I can’t do this.

I move to stand up. But he shocks me stupid again when his hand reaches out and grabs my wrist, sending an electric shock through me that sparks, sending intense tingles all over my body, and I stay seated.

I jerk my hand back, and he doesn’t look all that offended. If I’m being honest, he looks just as bewildered as I feel. “I don’t need friends,” I say carefully, waiting for him to argue with me.

To tell me how lonely he knows I am.

But that’s not what he does. He just sits there, staring at me like he’s thinking hard. It makes me itchy, wondering what he’s going to say.

“Well, I could use a friend.”

My brow crinkles, and I want to laugh at him, but that would be cruel when I’m pretty sure he’s being nice. “You’ve been here a week, and I’ve seen you chatting it up with plenty of people already.”

“I’m a friendly guy,” he says with a smile—confident as usual, but he’s holding something back. I can feel it. “But I wouldn’t say any of them are actually my friends. They don’t know me. They don’t know what brought me here.”

I won’t ask. I won’t. From the way he’s looking at me right now, it’s like he’s telling me something without telling me, and I can’t know it. I don’t know why I can’t, but I just know it.

“My dad kicked me out.”

All my hackles rise at once, putting me on high alert. No parent should ever kick their child out, but with the way he’s looking at me . . . like he knows me. Like there’s something we have in common . . .

I start to shake my head as he goes on, “He kicked me out when he found out that I’m g⁠—”

“No,” I say abruptly, standing from my chair and already heading for the door. I can’t know this.

He can’t tell me this. Even if it’s all bullshit—which instinctively, I know it’s not. He can’t.

“Calvin, wait.” He reaches for me, just as I’m grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “I want to tell you⁠—”