Page 87 of Home Game

“On what?” I shout back, the sudden rumble of the bus making it hard for either of us to hear.

Wyatt’s smile still firmly in place, his eyes dazzle against the football lights.

“You’ll see,” he says, winking and falling back into his seat and out of my clear view.

I squint at his window, my lips puckered with fake frustration and, somehow, even more love. I walk away, repeating his words under my breath—you’ll see—and wondering what they mean. He can be so cryptic.

When I reach my Jeep, I gaze across the grass hill to the propped-open home locker room door. My mom is kissing my dad good-bye for the night as my sister tugs at the back of my mom’s shirt. They laugh, I assume about how hard it is to do something as simple as kiss each other sometimes, and I’m suddenly hit with a glimpse of my future.

“I’ll see,” I say to myself as I climb into the Jeep and stare at the taillights of Wyatt’s bus as it pulls away. My mouth hangs open, a smile teasing the corners as I let myself imagine. As scary as the thought is of a future far from now—one where I’m in my mom’s shoes, Wyatt in my dad’s—it’s also strangely comforting. It makes me hopeful. Happy.

And whether it comes true, well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

Epilogue

Peyton has been a good sport today. I know it stung a little not being the one to ride the one-mile stretch down Main Street for the Fall Festival. But she’s been rocking the fundraising part to the point that she’s blown past being named royalty. She’s a tycoon.

“What’s the grand total so far?” I ask her as she takes the towel from my hands on her way out of the dunk tank. Every cheer member did fifteen minutes in the hotseat, and last I checked, they were up to six grand. Peyton had a hell of a line waiting to send her to the cold water. She even let Bryce pay for a round but charged him double.

It took every ounce of self-control in my body to sit back and let him throw at the target like that. Unlike the rest of her customers, she didn’t even have to heckle him to get him going. He’s still working through his bruised ego. At least my girl got forty bucks out of him.

“Tash, where are we at after my turn?” Peyton steps behind her friend as she counts cash, then adds the newest round of bills to a deposit bag and tally spreadsheet.

“Sixty-eight hundred. You pulled in eight on your own. Damn, girl. People love to hate on you!”

They high five, but when Tasha goes back to managing the booth, I make sure to square Peyton’s shoulders with mine and look her in the eyes.

“Nobody hates you,” I say, not wanting anything negative to ever tear her down.

Her head tilts to the side and she glances up through her batting lashes.

“Pshh, I know. I’m awesome,” she says, laughing before finishing her brag.

She glances over my shoulder, her smile falling a tad. Bryce is lifting another Coolidge cheerleader over his shoulder and carrying her to the Ferris wheel.

“Is that hard to see?” I ask, that jealous itch in my belly needing a scratch. I look back to Peyton. She shrugs.

“Not at all. I’m just not sure who I feel worse for in that duo—Stephanie or Bryce. Maybe they deserve each other.”

I nudge her chin toward me and tickle her lips with mine, closing my eyes as I hum.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say.

She lifts up on her toes and deepens the kiss, suckling on my bottom lip, which is maybe my favorite thing in the world.

“You don’t just deserve me, you’re stuck with me,” she says, falling back on her heels and patting the center of my chest. “So, are you going to suck it up and come to my homecoming with me next weekend or not?” She gives me a coy look, but I decided the second she told me she got permission from the school for me to attend that there was zero chance I’d miss out on being her plus-one. Apparently, Coolidge homecoming is a big deal. And it’s in her family’s barn. I don’t think I could avoid the event if I wanted to.

“I am. But I should probably ask your dad’s permission. You know, sort of a classic gentleman move.”

She smirks, and I tilt my head and suck in my lips, curious—and very cautious.

“That look means something,” I say.

“No, it doesn’t. Oh, and are you going to donate to our booth? You promised.” She holds out a flat open palm.

My head falls back as I chuckle and reach for my wallet.

“Ah, I see. This is all to get twenty bucks out of me,” I joke.

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