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Eli was snuggled in bed when Nolan walked into the bedroom a few minutes later. His toiletry kit was on Nolan’s bathroom counter and his suitcase was open on the floor, clothing already spilling out of it.

The entire scene was scarily domestic. If it had been Amber in his bed, he might’ve found an excuse to putz around the kitchen a little longer, ensuring she was asleep when he came to bed.

But this was Eli.

And he didn’t want to hide from Eli. He didn’t want to be the person King had accused him of being—the one who wouldn’t let himself be known. Who wanted connection but wouldn’t let himself have it.

He just wasn’t quite sure how to not be that person.

He was pretty sure it started with not going back to the kitchen, though.

Quickly, he emptied his bladder, brushed his teeth, stripped to his boxers, and flicked off the lamp on the nightstand. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he slid into bed and his heavy eyelids closed almost involuntarily. He snuck an arm out toward Eli, who took the hint and cuddled into him.

“Your skin is so soft,” Eli murmured. “What soap do you use?”

Nolan hid his laugh in Eli’s hair.

“What? Why’s that funny?”

“You’re cute,” Nolan told him.

“I know,” Eli said on a sigh. “It’s the freckles.”

It wasn’t the freckles, though they certainly didn’t hurt.

chapter

thirteen

Dear Annie,

The first time I told you I loved you, I honestly felt like I was going to die.

I’d been thinking about telling you for weeks. Not in a big, romantic flash-mob kind of way. I’m not a big, romantic flash-mob kind of guy, which you very well know by now. I wanted it to mean something, but I also didn’t want to wait for the right moment.

What does the right moment look like anyway?

I never found out.

Because I blurted it when you were snort-laughing about something while we waited in line at the grocery store.

And you looked at me not like I was the dreaded last whole wheat baguette, but like I was the coveted sourdough loaf.

Cool-meter: +1000!

I felt fucking amazing! But then came the fear and the second-guessing because I had no idea what was going to happen after that. (What happened after that was that you told me you loved me too while you continued to laugh as if the moment was just a regular Wednesday at the grocery store. Then you rolled your eyes and said, “Of course you’d tell me now.”)

You didn’t know, but your reaction completely set me ease. I’d made this moment out to be bigger than it was in my head, and no, I wasn’t going to flash-mob you, but I did consider flowers, a singing telegram, and a puppy wearing a notecard that said “I love you.” One idea more elaborate than the last until I was thinking about confetti and wine and balloons and . . .

You get the picture.

But your reaction made me feel safe and whole and like I belonged.

Why couldn’t you have been a Trailblazer? If you’d been a player like me, you’d have had no trouble fitting in, and maybe you would’ve welcomed me into your circle of friends.

You know, being with this team . . . even though I’ve struggled to connect, it’s also been the first place where I haven’t felt like a complete outsider. Not that I feel like an insider either, but close enough that I can pretend. I see the guys laughing together, and while sometimes I participate, most of the time I watch from the periphery. If I were more like you, I’d walk right up to them and get in on the joke.

I want to. So desperately.