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Michael chuckles, but it’s short and strained. “Oh, well…I was actually in a pretty serious relationship up until a few months ago.”
Grant’s eyebrows shoot up as he takes this in before concluding, “So now you’re looking for a rebound.”
What?
I aim a sharp warning glare at him, but he ignores it.
Michael is no longer laughing or smiling, but he’s still trying to keep things as light as possible as he shrugs. “No, no way. Nothing like that.”
My brother has been watching this exchange right along with Harper and Chloe, and I’ve watched his friendly expression slowly melt away. As far as he knows, I haven’t had much interaction with Grant—I’m not even sure I’ve told him we’ve met—and now here’s Grant, giving my date the fifth degree. It probably seems more than a little odd.
“Grant,” I hiss quietly under my breath, hoping he’s the only one who hears it.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Just trying to play catch-up here.”
“No, no worries. It’s clear that Tate has a lot of people looking out for her. I’m glad.” Michael shoots me a warm smile, and I can feel Grant stiffen beside me as he finally lets go of Michael’s hand.
This was a huge mistake. I should have never brought Michael down onto the field. I didn’t realize Grant was like this. Territorial, jealous—over me?! It’s hard to believe it’s possible.
I step forward, putting myself slightly between Grant and Michael. “Anyway, I’m sure Grant has more postgame press to get to…just wanted you to get to meet him really quick.”
I feel Grant’s gaze boring into the back of my head, but I can’t turn around, not while everyone is looking at me curiously, wondering what’s going on. If I want to keep the peace and avoid an awkward conversation with Luke and Michael, it’s crucial I play my part to a T, which means facing forward, plastering on a smile, and waiting with bated breath.
With Grant behind me, it’s like having a lion at my back. Every instinct is telling me to turn around, to assess the danger. I know objectively I’m doing everything right, and yet it feels so wrong to leave Grant hanging like this, to be choosing Michael right in front of him. I hate it.
“See ya around” is as warm a farewell as Michael gets before Grant skirts around us.
Luke pats Grant’s shoulder as he passes by. “Good game, man.”
I hold my breath, but that’s it. No questions asked. No barbs thrown from either camp. I almost delude myself into thinking the last few minutes weren’t that strange.
Only then I look at Chloe and she widens her eyes.
“What was that?!” she mouths.
Panic seizes me. I give a tiny shake of my head and turn away.
“Anyway…Michael, you want to see what it feels like to stand on first base in Pinstripe Stadium?”
Later, Michael and I take the subway home since there’s no chance we’ll manage to get an Uber now that the streets outside the stadium are packed with celebrating fans. On the way, he picks my brain more about the game and repeats for the one-hundredth time how cool it was that he got to meet the guys on the field. Just before he drops me off, he kisses my cheek on the doorstep of my apartment building and tells me he’ll have to take me to a hockey game next time.
It feels like a huge relief when he walks away, like I can finally drop the phony act and dissolve into my real feelings as I take the elevator up to my apartment. Sophia and Daphne aren’t home, and I’m glad. I don’t want to answer a million questions about tonight. After I shower and put on my pajamas, I check Instagram.
I’m not really surprised there’s a message from Grant waiting for me. If I’m honest, I was hoping there would be…
My hand shakes so bad I can’t even read it. I set my phone down, walk away, and brush my teeth in the bathroom. Then I try again, this time with both hands holding my phone.
Grant: Don’t pull that shit again.
WHAT?
Immediately, my blood boils.
That’s not the message I was expecting.
Tate: Are you kidding me?
I send my response before I even think of taking a second to cool off. Is it the best decision of my life? Probably not, but it’s too late now. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s already replying. I wonder if he was just sitting there, stewing, waiting for me to get back to him.
Grant: Imagine you were in my shoes. What if I showed up at your work on a date and shoved the woman right in your face? What did you think was going to happen back there?
No.
NO.
Already my anger is starting to give way, regret seeping in. He’s right, of course. Had I considered that beforehand, I would have handled things differently.
