Page 88 of Offside Angle

“HOLLYWOOD!” I huff, immediately defensive, and throw the bottle cap at his head. It bounces off his shoulder and he laughs — loud and genuine, the sound cutting through the quiet night air.

“So?” he asks again. Asshole.

“No,” I mutter, my cheeks burning as I take the bottle back. “We didn’t. He’s been very patient with me.”

Cole nods slowly, but there’s something softer in his eyes now. “Good,” he says after a moment. “Because if he hurt you I’d have to kick his ass too. And I’m getting real tired of punching people this week.”

I snort and bump his shoulder with mine.

We sit there for a while longer, passing the bottle back and forth, the silence between us feeling a little less heavy than it did downstairs. It’s not fixed. Not completely. But it’s something.

Cole eventually sighs and leans back on the bench, looking up at the sky. “You know I’ve got your back, right? Even if you’re an idiot who kisses photographers and breaks my sister’s heart.”

I smile faintly, staring at the bottle in my hands. “Yeah. I know.”

“She told me not to be pissed at you, you know,” Cole says after another long pull from the bottle. “That you came to her at the airport that night when I punched you and she chose to end it.”

I look at him, something tight in my chest loosening just a little. Lena. Even after everything, she was still trying to protect me. From her own brother.

Cole watches me for a moment, then his face twists with another thought.

“But Santi?”

I already don’t like the way he says it.

“What about him?”

“I mean…” He gestures vaguely, apparently trying to assemble the least offensive version of whatever is happening in his head. “How is he any different from a girl?”

I stare at him.

Cole immediately starts backpedaling. “Not like that. I mean the eyeliner, the clothes, the nails—”

A laugh escapes me. “Yeah,” I drawl. “About that.”

Cole’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

I take another drink.

He stares at me for another second before his eyes widen.“No.”

I start smiling despite myself.

“No fucking way.”

“Cole—”

“You cannot tell me he’s a top.” He points at me with genuine accusation. “I refuse to believe that.”

And there goes my face. Heat rushes straight up my neck before I can stop it.

Cole sees it and his expression collapses into absolute horror. “Matteo Rivera! Nooooo!”

The sound he makes is so dramatic that I lose it. I bend forward laughing while Cole throws both hands into the air like I’ve personally betrayed years of friendship.

“Stop laughing! This is serious!”

That only makes it worse.