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“Where have you been?” Maclain said with a smirk. “And where’s your boy Donovan?”
I froze, trying to get my mouth to work as everyone stared at me. Thankfully, my dad was standing near another table, talking to Lopez about something. “How would I know? I was busy cleaning up the clubhouse after a bunch of messy players.”
Hollister elbowed him. “What’s your problem?”
I quickly grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza from the center of the table, intent on stuffing my mouth as quickly as possible so I didn’t have to answer any more probing questions.
“What?” I heard Maclain reply as I took my first bite and reached for a napkin to wipe my mouth. “We always tease Donovan about being up in Bat Boy’s business. So I figured Bat Boy would know Donovan’s business too, if you know what I mean. They’re probably secretly…ah, shit. Hey, Coach.”
I nearly choked on a bite of pizza as my head whipped in his direction. My dad was standing behind him with his arms crossed.
“Something I need to know about?” he asked, his jaw clenched tight.
“Nah, just messing around like we always do,” Maclain replied, dipping his head sheepishly. Christ, even his cheeks were pink. Asshole.
“You know Maclain,” Girard piped in from two seats down. “He thinks he’s funnier than he actually is.”
“Screw you,” Maclain scoffed. “I’m funny.”
“Maybe funny looking,” Girard said.
Hollister joined in on the teasing, and Dad shook his head at them. But I could feel his eyes on me, and I did not want to look at him for anything.
When Dad finally moved to the other table again, I blew out a breath, but I couldn’t seem to steady my pulse. Maclain’s interrogation had put me on high alert, as did everyone else’s scrutiny.
Suddenly everything felt like…too much. It was time to put an end to whatever this was with Donovan, or our days would be numbered. You could only take chances so long before you were called out.
The table grew quieter after that, and when Donovan walked in a couple of minutes later, he could immediately tell something was amiss. All he had to do was notice how silent and almost humble Maclain was—even if Donovan didn’t yet know it was because Maclain had been caught making fun of us in front of my dad, which…everyone knew not to let Coach catch wind of shit like that. Without missing a beat, Donovan made a beeline for the other table, where there was an open seat, and we didn’t look at each other the rest of the meal.
I ended up talking to Coach Adams and Girard about some last-minute things regarding the upcoming fundraiser at the Girard’s bowling alley. Once the bill was paid and the players started taking off, I made my way toward the door too, still avoiding Donovan, who was waiting for Hollister to finish a conversation with Lopez.
“Kellan,” Dad called after me. “Walk out with me.”
I slowed down so he could catch up with me, and we headed to the parking lot together. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Anything I need to worry about?” He threw me a sidelong glance. “I mean, I hired my son to help with my team this year, so he wouldn’t dare break the agreement we’d made at the beginning of the season, would he?”
“Of course not.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. I swallowed the sand from my throat as my pulse jackhammered in my veins. “You know Maclain. He says all sorts of stupid stuff.”
He turned to face me, studied me as if searching for something in my eyes, and I felt like I might crumble under the pressure. “Okay, I trust you, son.”
And if that didn’t just make me feel so fucking awful. I was going to puke my guts out.
“Dad, I…” He paused with his key at his driver’s side door while my heart thrashed as I wondered if I needed to say something to him about Donovan.
Unfortunately, Dad, I did break your one and only rule.
No. No way. We knew it was never meant to be. Why upset him before regionals? “Drive home safe.”
That night, as I lay in bed, clicking through the channels, I lifted my phone to text Donovan. Talk?
As soon as the phone rang, I picked up the call and said, “We can’t do this anymore, Brady. It’s getting too—”
“I know. Hollister told me what happened.” There was a bite to his tone. “Fucking Maclain and his stupid jokes. I’m gonna give him a piece of my—”
“Don’t say anything. Please. It’ll only make it worse. If it wasn’t him, it would be someone else. Besides, nobody knows the truth.”
“What is the truth?” His voice was soft and uncertain.
“That we’re friends who kiss?” Though he definitely felt like more. But why muddy the waters even more?
“Not only kiss,” he countered.
“God, don’t,” I pleaded. “You’ll make me hard.”
