Page 60 of Save the Game

“Yeah,” I agree, biting my lip.

“Well, just because he doesn’t know the details doesn’t mean he’s not smart enough to put two-and-two together that something was bothering you. So, yeah, I guess I can understand the overprotective thing. You’re his friend, and he doesn’t know me.” Luke shrugs. “I’d probably want to kick my ass, too, if I was in his shoes.”

Huffing a soft laugh, I relax back against the seat. “Him and Zeke are making the long-distance thing work pretty well. I’m happy for them.”

“Okay, talk about the weirdest fucking couple,” Luke laughs. “How the hell did those two even meet? Did you hear Zeke talking about differential calculus or what the fuck ever? I swear to god, Maxy, I was trying so hard to follow but it was impossible. He was dumbing it down, too, I know he was.”

“Yeah, he’s insanely smart. He’ll be changing the world one day, while the rest of us play with our balls.” Luke snorts, and I reach over to smack him. “I meant, like, we’d just be playing sports. Shut up, stop laughing, you know what I meant.”

“Seriously, though, how did they meet? I’m dying to know.”

“Zeke answered an ad Carter posted about wanting a roommate.”

“Mm,” Luke hums, wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively, “so this was like a one-bed scenario, huh? Roommates to lovers, I like it. I bet you any amount of money that Carter was the one who fell first.”

“Oh, for sure,” I agree, and he looks over to smile at me. “They’re good together, though. Sort of like Coach Mackenzie and Anthony Lawson. They don’t seem like they’d be the right match, but they fit together perfectly.”

“Just like us,” Luke nods resolutely, and my chest warms at the certainty in his tone. He pulls into his driveway to park, pulling the key from the ignition and lighting up the interior. Looking over at me, he touches my chin lightly with his fingertips. “Now, let’s go inside and make sweet, sweet love.”

Laughing, I get out of the car and wait for him to join me on my side. He reaches for me and I shove him away, playfully. “You can’t ever say anything normal, can you?”

In answer, he tosses his arm over my shoulder and pulls me in for a kiss.

15

Luke

Lifting up my shirt, I angle my body until I have a good view of my side in the mirror. Wincing, I run my fingers carefully over my ribs. Not broken, according to the medical staff, but bruised enough to keep me benched for our next game. Already, the bruise has darkened to a sickening black color, and the laces from the ball are visible, stamped into my skin like some sort of reverse tattoo. Sighing, I carefully pull my shirt back down. I need to find an icepack. Turning around, I find Marcos’ dark eyes on me across the room.

“All right?” He calls. I nod, but it must not look convincing enough because he walks over. He’s half-undressed, still wearing his uniform pants but absent of his cleats and shirt.

“I’m good,” I tell him when he’s close enough to hear without me raising my voice. “Not broken.”

“Looks bad,” he notes, and I shrug the shoulder opposite of my not-broken ribs.

“Part of the game,” I say, and he nods. All of us have been hit by a pitch at one point or another. It sucks, but not something to get unduly worked up about.

“Max has the night off,” Marcos notes, and I nod because he’d already told me so. “I wasn’t sure what your plans were, but if you were going to be with Max, I’ll probably go out with some of the guys.”

“You don’t have to leave your apartment just because I’m going to be there.”

“No, I know. I was wanting to go out tonight, but I usually stay home if…” He trails off, breaking eye contact and looking around the crowded locker room. It doesn’t matter, I already know what he was going to say: that he usually stays home if Max is going to be there, so he doesn’t have to be alone.

“I’ll be with Max,” I assure him, and he nods gratefully.

“Okay, cool.” Full up on chit-chat, he walks away and back over to his locker.

Since I was pulled from the game early, I’m already changed and ready to go. I stop into the training room on my way out, grabbing an icepack for the drive home and call Max. He picks up on the first ring; there’s clanging in the background and he’s out of breath.

“Am I interrupting a workout?” I ask, tossing my bag into the trunk and popping open the driver’s side door.

“Hey, no, not at all. I was listening to your game while I worked out—are you okay? The announcer said you got hit with a pitch.”

“I’m fine. Bruised ribs, nothing to get excited about.”

“Fuck, Luke, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding worried. “Are you on the way back? Want to meet at my apartment? I’ve got some Arnica at home and tons of icepacks. We can just take it easy tonight.”

I grin, propping my phone between my shoulder and ear as I turn the key in the ignition. “Are you offering to rub Arnica gel onto my poor, bruised body?”

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