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He nods, staring down at his shoes again. “Thank you, I am. I…” He rakes a hand through his hair and tugs. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Let you know, that is… I’ll be pretty busy with that this week, so I’m not sure I’ll be around much for…” He glances up and past me, I think to gauge if we’re far enough away from others to speak honestly. His gaze slides to where my family stands, talking in their noisy circle, of which Linnie is the center, dribbling around with her tiny Angel City soccer ball that I brought out for her after the game. His eyes meet mine. “I won’t be around much to get out and be seen for our publicity.”
For our publicity. Right. I’m bad at reading subtext, but it’s not hard to notice what he hasn’t said—not a single word about seeing each other as friends.
“But, uh—” He shrugs. “I thought maybe we could—”
“Seb!” Ren calls, strolling our way. I swallow a groan, frustrated at our being interrupted. “Why don’t you stick around? We’re heading to my parents’ for family dinner. Come join us.”
“We’d love to have you,” Mom adds.
Sebastian opens his mouth, then shuts it. “Oh, uh… Thank you, but I can’t. I have…I’ve got plans.”
Ren frowns, which is rare. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Sebastian flashes one of those glittering grins my family’s way, one that I’ve realized is a shiny surface hiding much rockier terrain beneath. “I really do appreciate it, though. Good to see you all.”
“Bye, Trouble!” Linnie yells.
A dry laugh leaves him, but it’s off, the tiniest slip, like a wrong note in a song that I can’t quite put my finger on. Sebastian waves to Linnie, then turns back to me. “I’ve got to go now, so…”
His gaze meets mine. Then, suddenly, his arms are around me, tugging me against him. Reflexively, I let my bag drop to the floor and wrap my hands around Sebastian’s waist. “Sebastian, what were you trying to tell me—”
“You were fucking brilliant out there,” he says against my ear, quickly, quietly. “Not just how you played, but how you stood up for yourself. I saw you hold your ground and tell Gina you were taking the penalty, even when she didn’t want you to. Proud of you.”
I swallow as a lump forms in my throat. “Thank you, Seb—”
He’s gone before I can say another word, releasing me so abruptly I nearly stumble back, then waving over his shoulder as he jogs toward his car.
I stare after him, brow furrowed, and feel Frankie join me as we stand shoulder to shoulder, her hand dancing on her cane. “He’s acting weird,” I tell her.
Frankie stares after Sebastian, too, from behind her big dark sunglasses, and nods. “Yeah, Ziggy. He definitely is.”
“So.” Ren pockets his phone, then leans in to put the final touches on his toast Skagen, delicately placing dill garnish on the skagenröra.
“So?” I wipe down the counter with a towel so it’s clean and ready for when we set out all the other food we have in the fridge and on the stovetop.
“Just got a text from Andy. He’s puking his guts out.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. But also, poor Andy. That stinks.”
“Indeed.” Ren brushes off his hands and steps back, frowning at the toast Skagen. He steps in again and adjusts a piece of dill. “It’s less than ideal, since I was going to have him read Benedick. I thought you two would do great together.”
“Ah, darn.” I’m reading Beatrice, the other main character and Benedick’s nemesis turned love interest. “Well, this is why we keep it low-key and ask everyone to read the play in its entirety ahead of time. It won’t be hard to have someone else step in. We’ve still got enough numbers to read all the parts, right?”
Ren nods. “We do. But, you know, Benedick is a main role, and while I love every club member, not everyone’s going to get all they can out of the humor and wit in Benedick’s lines.”
“True.” I mist a greasy spot on the counter with more spray cleaner, then go at it with the towel. “So who are you thinking should take Andy’s place?”
“Well.” Ren steps back from the toast Skagen again, and this time seems satisfied with the results of his food fussing. “I was thinking Seb could do it.”
I slide sideways with the towel so hard, I nearly fly right off the counter’s edge. Spinning, I save my literal slip—at least, I hope I do—and throw the towel over my shoulder as I lean against the counter, then ask casually, “You don’t say?”
Ren’s got his back to me now, stirring the Swedish meatballs, which, if absent, Tyler will literally cry about. “I thought it would be a nice way to bring him into the group—show them that he’s got some acting chops, that he can commit to a role like that and do it justice.”
My cheeks are bright pink as I snap the towel off my shoulder and start twisting it between my hands. Benedick and Beatrice have a lot of sexual tension. Creating that kind of dynamic with Sebastian seems like a very bad idea, given how things have gone since our conversation after my game.
I’ve spent the past five days trying not to fixate on what he was about to say when Ren interrupted him. I’ve tried to ignore the ache inside me for his voice and his hugs, the simple nearness of his body, when we couldn’t even manage angry yoga this week, our schedules were so conflicting. I’ve tried hard not to mull over how much I miss our feisty back-and-forth as much as the quieter, kinder moments we seem to stumble into sometimes.
I don’t think it’s a good idea to spend two hours creating sexual tension—even if it’s only pretend—with my friend who I’m definitely hung up on.
