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Like they were with Shiloh and me.
I felt like shit keeping us on the downlow at school when I wanted to show her off. Kiss her in front of God and everybody, claiming her as mine. But she was okay with the secrecy for different reasons. Trying to keep her shields up. I couldn’t blame her; she’d been burned hard, but day by day, she was letting them go. For me.
I felt richer than Holden.
“And I have news,” he said. “It concerns a certain rapey football player whose pristine white Jeep was given a new paint job by our own resident vigilante.”
I sat up, my pulse kicking. “What did you hear?”
“I heard that said paint job made the local news.”
I frowned. “That shit went down months ago.”
Holden shrugged. “Seems Kimberly’s friends weren’t satisfied with her having to leave town while Mikey struts around school, suffering precisely jack shit in the consequences department.”
“So what’s the deal?” Miller asked.
“Michael ‘Douchebag’ Grimaldi has been booted from the football team,” Holden said, tossing one end of his scarf over his shoulder. “More of a symbolic gesture, given the season’s over, but he’s losing his letter and—word has it—his ticket to Texas A&M has been revoked.”
Miller stared. “No shit? Good.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
He gave me a knowing look. “I have a connection on the football team.”
I sat back in my chair, considering this. On the one hand, fuck Grimaldi. On the other, he and Dowd were friends…
Nah, fuck them both.
I sipped my beer, content. Miller frowned, wearing his usual worried expression.
“What?”
“You think he knows it was you?”
I shrugged. “He might.”
“But even if he does, he can’t prove you tagged his ride.” Holden grinned. “Fucking with jocks is high on my list of favorite things.” He shot me another knowing look. “Right after actually fucking them.”
I got the message, loud and clear.
Whitmore, I swear to fucking God, take care of him…
My phone chimed a text.
Bibi made lasagna. Come over.
My damn heart felt warm. Shiloh hadn’t asked me over to dinner since that day back in September.
She’s letting me in.
Time?
Dinner’s at 7 but U can head over any time.
On my way.
I stood up, tucked my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and drained my beer. “I’m out.”
