Page 2 of Home Game

“Well, all right, then.” He winks.

Who winks? And why do I like it?

“Coming right up,” I say as I tap the edge of the menu on the countertop. That is a phrase I have never said. Not once. Ever. And Neil, who wasnotfar enough away from the window when I uttered it, is quick to poke fun of me the second I push through the kitchen door.

“And would you like anything . . .on the side?” He pretends to fluff his hair as he does an impression of what I think issupposed to be me. I shove the ticket flat against the center of his chest and he coughs out a laugh.

“What? It’s cute to see you get all flustered. It’s rare to see you off your game,” he teases.

“I’m not flustered. Just, he wants pancakes. Shouldn’t you—” I flit my hand toward the griddle, but he’s still busy laughing at me.

“Is that why you came all the way in here instead of hanging the ticket on the clip and ringing the bell?” He quirks a brow. I flit my hand toward the griddle again, then turn my back to him.

“I came in here because we’re out of coffee filters up front,” I throw over my shoulder. It’s a lie, but Neil doesn’t leave the kitchen. He has no idea where the coffee filters are. Hell, he might not even knowwhatthey are.

I get to the back where the stock of paper supplies is piled neatly in boxes, all labeled. I pat my back pocket in search of my phone so I can text for advice as I sink against the wall of cardboard.Shit.I left it by the register. Not that I’d know what to say to my best friends. Or that I really want to scroll through more of their fun while I’m stuck here “building character.” But the need for a distraction right this second is making me itchy. Which means . . . I’d probably end up texting Bryce. Comfortable, familiar Bryce.

This is how we always end up back together. He goes away for some quarterback camp or college visit, and the reality of things hits me, so I tell him we should take a break. Sometimes he’s the one to suggest it, like this time. He’s been gone the entire summer. And I haven’t really missedhim, per se. But I have missed his company.

Maybe I’ve simply missed company, period.

I have no desire to follow Bryce to college. I don’t really care much for any of the places he’s looking to play. To be honest, sometimes I feel as though I go out with him to makemy dad happy, which is hilarious considering my father wanted to throttle him the first time they met. He sure loves him now, though. The great Reed Johnson has two daughters. I think Bryce is the surrogate son he never had. He definitely plays like my father.

Glancing up, I spot the open box of coffee filters and grab a fresh stack to carry back as my excuse. I don’t make eye contact with Neil as I pass by, but I swear I feel him smirking at me.

My new friend’s eyes dart up from his phone screen when I enter the dining room, and his mouth ticks up on one side like he overheard me and Neil a minute ago. Maybe I’m projecting. Either way, the heat is taking over my neck and cheeks. I wish I wasn’t wearing an apron over this Kelly green polo shirt. I could not possibly be wearing a less flattering color.

“You should check your phone,” he says. I glance at him over my shoulder as he points toward the register. “It was buzzing like crazy while you were gone.”

I nod with a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

I tuck the filters on top of the stack that already exists, then snag my phone to see what excitement I’m missing. There are a dozen more notifications, which I skip because I’m sure they’re more posts of my friends having a great time without me. But then there’s the missed call from Bryce. My thumb hovers over his name for a second but instead moves to check my voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, but why would he? We aren’t together. His choice this time. Maybe it was mutual. I don’t even know anymore.

The sharp ping of the bell makes me jump a little, so I shove my phone in my back pocket and move to the window where Neil has slid the plate of fresh pancakes. We make eye contact, his smirk still firmly in place, along with a tittering laugh.

“Shut it,” I snap, pinching the air at him as if I’m stapling his lips shut with my fingers. If I could, I think I would.

I plate the dish with a carafe of warm syrup and several fresh pats of butter, then deliver the hotcakes along with a set of silverware to my new friend. Or enemy. Or . . .

“So, are you new here?” I blurt out after letting go of his plate.

His gaze hovers on my face for a few seconds as he twists his plate around, the faint smile never having left. I don’t think it’s dimmed since he walked in.

“Yeah, we just moved in over the weekend—the new development on Canyon Road. We were waiting for the build to get done. It should have been ready three months ago.” He drops his attention to his food, soaking the cakes in syrup then dropping slices of butter in various spots. I’m internally amused because it’s exactly the way I go at these things when I’m hungry.

“You’ll be going to the new school, then, huh?” I lean against the counter again, trying to find the comfort I barely grasped before. He takes a massive bite and nods as he looks up at me.

“Too bad. I can’t give you any tips.” I shrug and do my best to ignore the sudden drop in serotonin as my stomach tightens.Yeah, yeah, so I wanted him to go to Coolidge High. It’s fine. Whatever. So, fine. Why should I care?

“All high schools are basically the same, though, aren’t they?” he says, quickly stuffing more pancake into his mouth.

We both laugh softly.

“I guess so,” I say. Though, I’m not sure my high school experience has ever truly been typical. This place still has a small-town vibe, but growth is swallowing it up. And it’s impossible to escape my dad’s legacy, especially now. I do my best to focus on my cheer competitions and the stunt team. And when I’m not working, I try to appreciate the real friendships I’ve made. Lexi and Tasha don’t care that my family owns half the land within the town limits, or that my dad is on ESPN everyother week. Don’t get me wrong, they love the perks that come along with our ranch and our vacations, but it’s not why we’re friends. Bryce, however? I don’t know. I’ve never felt like it was something real between us. Even when he was trying hard to be everything I thought I wanted him to be. The letters, which he hasn’t written since last summer, feel forced when I look back on them now.

The chime for the entrance breaks me out of my thoughts, and it takes my mind a few extra seconds to realize it’s Bryce walking through the door. My new friend spins his stool halfway around to follow my gaze, probably because my eyes have popped out.

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