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“It’s okay to be sad,” she says quietly as if reading my thoughts. Or maybe it’s my facial expressions that give me away.
I force the edges of my lips to lift into a slight smile. “I don’t understand why I’m so upset. We weren’t together that long. It shouldn’t be such a big deal.”
Reaching across the table, her hand settles over mine. “Aw, babe…it always hurts when someone breaks our hearts.”
I guess she’s right about that. I just wish my heart hadn’t been involved in the first place.
“All I need is a few more days to wallow, and then I’ll be over it.” Even as I force out the words, they don’t ring true. And the way Sasha’s dark brows wing upward confirms that she doesn’t believe me either.
“Want me to beat him up? Would that make you feel better?” She retracts her hand so she can crack her knuckles.
Even though the popping sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard, the offer brings the first genuine smile to my lips since the incident. “Trust me, he’s not worth breaking a nail over.”
She stretches out her arm before admiring her unpolished ones. They’re short and perfectly filed. Acrylics and soccer don’t mix, but Sasha doesn’t mind. She’s always been more of a jock than a girlie girl.
“I’m willing to break a nail or two for you.”
A chuckle slips free. “That’s because you’re a good friend.”
She puckers her lips and sends an air kiss in my direction. “Right back at you, chickie poo poo.”
From the corner of my eye, my attention gets snagged by my cousin as he walks by with a few teammates. They’re a loud, boisterous group with a gaggle of puck bunnies trailing in their wake. Every men’s sports team seems to have their fair share of groupies.
As we make eye contact, he says something to the closest one before breaking away from his friends and beelining for my table. A number of girls nearby perk up as he saunters past. Once he arrives, he gives Sasha a quick chin lift in greeting before focusing his attention on me.
“Hi, Ryder.” She gathers up her belongings before scooting from the booth and popping to her feet. “Bye, Ryder.”
“Catch you later, Sasha,” he says.
She turns to me. “We’ll talk more after practice.”
I raise my hand in a wave as she takes off. With any hope, that won’t happen. I refuse to give Crosby another moment of my precious time or headspace.
My cousin drops down onto the bench across from me before carefully scouring my face. After a few silent moments, I shift beneath his intense scrutiny.
“Are you doing all right?”
I paste a fake smile on my face. “Of course. Never better.” He caught me right after I found out about the whole Crosby-Chris thing, and in a moment of weakness I now regret, I blurted out the entire sordid story. He’d been furious. I wish he’d just forget about it. The fewer people who know, the better off I’ll be. I can’t go through another chlamydia-gate again.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, and I’m an idiot who deserves what I get.
His lips flatten. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? I’m being serious. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I jerk my shoulders. “I promise that I’m as fine as I can be. That’s the best I can do.” I clench my hand under the table until the rounded nails bite into the soft skin of my palm before adding, “I just need you and Sasha to stop making a big deal out of this so I can forget about it and move on.”
An uncomfortable silence settles over us as he continues to assess me until I’m practically squirming beneath his relentless gaze.
“Well, that’s weird. It sure seemed like a big deal to Rhodes.”
I jerk upright as my chest constricts until it feels like there’s a thousand-pound elephant sitting in the middle of it, making it impossible to suck in full breaths. “What?” I can barely force out the next question. “You talked to him?” My voice elevates with each word that tumbles out. “Why would you do that?”
Oh my god. Why would he do that?
The situation is humiliating enough without my cousin sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and making everything worse.
A tortured groan escapes from me.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he points to the untouched quinoa bowl in front of me. “You gonna finish that or what?”
“No.” I shove it toward him. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions and it’s not as bad as I think. “Please tell me you didn’t talk to Crosby.”
Why am I even asking?
I can already tell by the hard glint in his eyes that he did.
Instead of answering, he stabs a piece of blackened chicken with the fork and pops it into his mouth before chewing it methodically. Only when he’s swallowed it down does he say nonchalantly, “We might have had a few words in passing.”
