Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Maclain,” he said in this throaty voice that made gooseflesh line my skin. Almost like in my dream. I looked at his eyes, then down to his lips, wondering if kissing a guy was any different than—No. Delete that thought immediately.
I shook my head to warn him off, even though I wanted the exact opposite, but he took the hint and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go play some air hockey.”
And that was precisely the right thing to say to cut the tension.
“You’re not afraid of losing to me?” I said in challenge as we went down the steps.
Girard chuckled. “Not a chance.”
We joined Gemma, Kellan, and Jasmine, and played a few rounds. And yeah, Girard beat me fair and square. Several times.
“No fair,” I griped, shoving the puck toward the center of the table. “You probably play all the time.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Guess you’ll just have to come around more often.”
My stomach did this swoop thing—traitor—and when I turned, Kellan was watching us. “What?”
“You two are as competitive at air hockey as you are on the field.”
“All him,” Girard replied, just as his mom motioned us over from the snack area.
“How about some soft pretzels?” she asked, stacking the doughy creations in paper sleeves and urging us to sit on the stools in front of the counter.
On cue, Kellan’s stomach growled, and we all laughed.
“He could use some meat on those bones,” Jasmine said.
“I’ll have you know my meat is just fine,” he hissed in her direction.
Okay, maybe I could admit I was actually having a fun time.
“So good,” Kellan said as he bit into his pretzel, and Jasmine concurred. Even Girard’s dad was drawn to the counter, maybe from the buttery smell alone.
“Are you the boy who gave Nickie a bloody nose?” Girard’s mom asked as she handed me a pretzel sprinkled liberally with salt.
I groaned inwardly. “Can I pretend I’m not? I’m sorry about that.”
His mom smiled. “I know it was only an accident.”
“Mom, this is Maclain—I mean, Mason. Damn, that feels weird to say.”
I confess I liked hearing it. Thankfully, he kept his word about not using my childhood nickname against me. Another thing that had thrown me that night.
His dad kissed his mom on the cheek, then reached for his own pretzel, and I found myself watching their interaction like it was a foreign thing.
I looked away, but not before his dad caught me and patted me on the shoulder. “Maclain, I was impressed with your pitching last season.”
“Thank you, sir.” I dipped my head. “I did okay.”
I could feel the flush stealing over my skin. It was stupid really. I got plenty of attention from fans—mostly girls on campus—but somehow hearing it from parents felt extra meaningful, and I didn’t always know how to respond.
“What?” I asked, noticing Girard gawking at me.
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you so humble before.”
“Shut it.” I dug into my pretzel, effectively ending the conversation.
“You ready to hit the road?” Jasmine asked a couple of minutes later, jingling her keys.
No, I really wasn’t, because I was finally feeling pretty comfortable. But I threw away my wadded-up paper wrapper and followed her and Kellan out the door anyway. “Catch you later.”
10
Girard
Kellan, Donovan, and I were sitting in the student center, the voices around us growing louder as more arrived to grab lunch and find tables where they could spread out with their food. The noise didn’t lend to studying for my afternoon test, so I closed my notebook and doubled down on finishing my turkey sandwich. I would need to head to a quiet bench outside after my next class to review my notes. Glancing up to the glass ceiling, which also gave this space it’s nickname—the Greenhouse—I noticed the gray clouds moving in. The library might be a better idea.
“Gotta go.” Kellan leaned forward to kiss Donovan’s cheek, then took off toward the exit. “Catch you later.”
“Hey, you okay?” Donovan asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I’d been intent on watching their interaction—their PDA right in the middle of the student center—and thinking too hard about all the implications.
“Yeah, sure. Uh…” I stumbled over my words. “Sorry, you just seem so happy and sure of yourself. Can’t help wondering how you came to that place so easily.”
“You mean being out with Kellan or being gay?”
“Both?” I balled up my sandwich wrapper to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Honestly, I thought something was wrong with me for so long that when I finally figured it out—with Kellan’s help, of course—it felt so right.”
I considered that for a moment. Had it felt right for me to date girls all this time? I sure as heck thought so. My newfound attraction to Maclain threw a wrench into the mix, but it only meant I wasn’t so straight after all. I was likely bisexual, but why the fuck had it taken me this long to clue in to that part of me?