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“Aw, man. That sucks.”
I shrugged. “I’ve accepted it. It’s fine.”
“No, I mean it sucks because I was hoping to hear some embarrassing stories aboutyou,” he replied. “I bet you dated some real losers in high school.”
I laughed. “I can tell you all about them myself. The biggest winner was Matt Crawford. He had asthma. Nothing against guys with health conditions, but the problem is he would get asthma attacks whenever we kissed. We had to pause our make-out sessions every ten seconds for him to take a hit of his inhaler. Whatever chemicals are in an inhaler, I could taste them in his mouth. Ugh.”
Luke was giving me a weird look. Was he offended that I was making fun of someone with asthma? I didn’t think he was that sensitive, but—
I gave a start when I realized how I had slipped up.Shit. I told him I dated a guy. He was still looking sideways at me, waiting for a response. For a moment, I considered telling him the truth. This was the perfect opportunity to come clean. We had been working together for six weeks, and I felt comfortable around him. We were practically friends, and he would probably understand.
Instead, I quickly crawled back behind my defensive walls. “That was back when I was still figuring things out,” I lied. “I didn’t realize I was a lesbian until the end of that year. Matt Crawford and his inhaler are probably the reason I switched teams,” I said with a laugh.
Luke chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”
Does he believe me?I wondered as we went through security and then boarded our flight.Or can he tell that I’m lying?
Luke didn’t bring it up again when we got home later that day, and we fell back into our normal routine. I escorted him to practice, and exercised while he was on the field. I shot the shit with his teammates while cooling off. Luke and I hung out at his apartment all afternoon, eating take-out while watching SportsCenter on the couch. Then we said goodnight and repeated it all the next day.
Everything was normal, but it was also different in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
On Friday, Luke broke the routine and said he needed to swing by the mall to get a birthday present for his sister Blair. “I didn’t even know malls still existed,” I said as we walked down the cavernous hallway flanked by clothing stores. “Doesn’t everyone buy what they need online?”
“I like to hold stuff in my hands,” he replied. “I’m a tactile guy. Especially with jewelry, which is what I always give her. Here we go. Over here.”
“Macy’s?” I said while following him into the department store. “There are a bunch of jewelry stores over there, if you want toreallyshow her you care.”
“Our relationship isn’t like that. They would make fun of me if I bought anythingtoofancy. I’ve been getting Blair jewelry from Macy’s since I was a teenager.”
“Which was only a few years ago,” I teased.
He glared at me. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just some dumb twenty-two-year-old. I’m sure I’ll be much wiser when I’m in my fifties.”
I gasped. “Fifties? You had better take that backright now.”
He stopped and turned to me. “You know I’m joking. Hell, when I first met you I thought you were, like, twenty-five.”
I brightened. “Really?”
Rather than answer me, Luke approached a rotating display of necklaces and began browsing.
“I was joking, too,” I said. “You’re actually pretty mature for your age.”
“That’s the kind of compliment adults give a ten year old who is good with computers.” He lifted a necklace off the display. “Stick your chin up for me. Hold still.” He leaned close and held the gold chain against my neck. The metal was cool, but his fingers were warm on my skin. A tingle went through my body.
“How’s it look?” I asked.
Luke put it back on the display and grabbed another. “I think I like this one more.” Once again he pressed it up to my neck. His breath stirred my hair and tickled my cheek. “Oh yeah. That’s the one.”
“Excuse me?” asked a man standing a few feet away. “I’m really sorry to bother you, Mr. August, but do you mind if I get your autograph? My son is a huge fan.”
My brain automatically made the same analysis it did every time a stranger approached Luke. He was tall and skinny—too skinny to be the man who had attacked Luke in Las Vegas. I forced myself to relax a little bit.
“Of course. Always happy to sign for a fan.” Luke scribbled his signature across the piece of paper, which looked like a Macy’s receipt.
“Thank you so much. Go Stallions!”
When he was gone, I said, “I bet that eventually gets old. Having fans approach you everywhere you go.”
