Page 78 of Rival Summer

"Hey, Boston..." I managed, turning to face him, my heart pounding a rhythm as chaotic as Parker's singing.

Bailey walked onto the stage with a swagger that had the crowd cheering before he even reached the microphone. The opening chords of "Wonderwall" filled the room, and to my surprise, his voice was actually pretty good—better than I had expected.

"You’re gonna be the one that saves me," Bailey sang, his eyes locked on some distant point, lost in the music.

I was just about to comment on his surprisingly good performance when he abruptly punctuated the chorus with an unnecessary crotch grab followed by lifting his shirt up to flash his abs. A mix of cheers and laughter erupted from the crowd.

Willow snorted beside me. "Well, guess he had to ruin it somehow."

"He was doing so well," I sighed, rolling my eyes.

As the last note hung in the air, the DJ's voice carried above the applause. "Alright, we got a special request here! All Blue Devil athletes, get your butts on this stage, pronto!"

Groans and chuckles rolled through the group of athletes scattered around the bar. Bailey turned to them, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. "Nope, I don't want to hear it. Get your asses up here, boys!"

One by one, they ambled onto the stage, some more reluctantly than others. As they arranged themselves, I couldn't help but notice the glaring space between Boston and Reese. Their body language spoke volumes—they might as well have been on different planets. Boston leaned against the far end, his arms crossed, a forced smile not quite reaching his eyes. Reese stood on the opposite side, his hands shoved into his pockets, the usual cocky, laid back look on his face was replaced by cold detachment.

"Something's definitely up with Reese and Boston," I whispered to Willow, leaning close to share my thoughts with her.

"Yeah," she agreed, her attention fixed on the stage. "Something's off, and it's more than just bad karaoke."

Their performance was more shouting than singing, and it was bad—really bad. As the final notes were drowned out by the cheers and laughter, Parker hopped off the stage, the confidence in his step suggesting he was proud of that spectacle. He made a beeline to our table, sliding into the seat next to Willow with a wide grin.

"Alright, Will," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "What did you think of my performance? Did it make you want to jump me on the stage?"

Willow tossed back her blonde curls, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh yeah, you stole the show, Parker. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants."

"Good to know I still got it," he replied with a wink. Then, leaning closer with a cheeky glint in his eye, he added, "You know, I have one of your dollar bills in my waistband. Feel free to put your hand in my pants and take it back."

She burst into laughter. Just then, Boston pulled up a chair. With a small smile, he nodded towards Parker. "And there's the Parker we all know and love," he joked, but failed to hide the tension that seemed to be weighing heavy on him tonight.

Parker's laughter subsided, and he playfully punched Boston's shoulder. "At your service, baby," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Boston shook his head and took a sip of his drink, his gaze lingering somewhere in the distance.

"Hey, Boston," I ventured, unable to shake the feeling that something was going on. "Do you wanna go somewhere more quiet and talk?"

His eyes met mine for a split second before he responded, "Sure." There was a hint of reluctance in his movement, as if for some reason he wanted to say no, but couldn't.

Boston led the way to the gambling machine area, away from the music and crowd. The dim lights flickered over the less crowded space, casting shadows that seemed to dance all around us.

"Okay, spill it," I urged, swirling my drink with the straw.

He swept his fingers through his hair. "About what?"

"Something is going on," I pressed, as I watched him closely. "You're acting standoffish.

Boston shifted uncomfortably, as the ticking sound of a spinning wheel played on the machines. "It's nothing," he dismissed.

"Does this have anything to do with why you didn't play this week?" I prodded.

He took a sip of his beer, the muscles in his jaw working silently. "Coach made that call," he said, but it felt like he wasn’t telling me something.

I sighed, frustrated. "I just don't understand what's going on," I admitted. "Why you're in a mood… and why Reese is in a mood."

His eyes narrowed, the intensity within them turning dark. "How would you know Reese is in a mood? Why would you care?"

"Because I care about both of you," I breathed out.

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