Page 4 of Game Face

“Babe, I’ll be right back. Corbin just walked in, and it’s been a minute since we caught up.” This is the fifth time my dad has left our table to catch up with an old friend. I’m pretty sure he saw Corbin two weeks ago, the last time we were here with my grandparents and little sister.

“Okay, but hurry. Wyatt’s on his way and we need to order, Reed.” My mom shakes her head as my father flashes a thumbs up over his shoulder.

“You should have his funeral here,” I say.

My mom chuckles and pulls another roll from the basket in the center of the table. She rips a piece off and stuffs it in her mouth.

“If he keeps ditching me for middle-aged men, that funeral might come sooner than later,” she snarks mid-bite.

I smirk, then twist in the booth to track my dad. I spot him with his hand on his friend’s back, laughing at the bar. Just then, Wyatt walks in, and for a moment, Reed Johnson isn’t the most popular person in Tate’s.

“That should get Dad back to his seat,” I joke before scooting out of the booth to rush into my boyfriend’s arms. He high fives a few Tate’s regulars at the bar before patting my father on the shoulder, then immediately bracing himself for me. His arms wrap all the way around me, and a few patrons whistle when I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and wrap my legs around his waist.

“You saw me this morning,” he chuckles, kissing the side of my head as I breathe him in. I love the way he smells after a shower. His hair is still wet, and it’s soaked his T-shirt collar.

“You look good in jeans and a clean white tee, what can I say?” I slide down his body until my boots touch the floor again.

“Wait until you see me out of them,” he whispers in my ear just before my dad sidles up next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder and guiding him away from me and to more old friends he wants to introduce him to.

“You two have thirty seconds before Mom makes Joey pull the saddle seats out and forces you both to sit on them through dinner,” I tease. Those chairs are usually reserved for birthday honorees, but my mom has the Tate’s owner, Joey, wrapped around her finger. And he’s planted my father’s ass on that saddle more than once just to make her happy. Truthfully, though? I think my dad likes the attention.

“I saw the presser today,” my mom says as I slip back into the booth and take my seat across from her.

My molars smash together as I wince. She and I have had a lot of therapeutic conversations about Bryce’s transfer. It’seasier to be honest with her about how uneasy it all makes me feel. My dad is too tangled in Bryce’s playing history. But also, he’s my dad, and any inkling of Bryce making me feel uncomfortable sends him into papa-bear mode.

“His answers were good,” I say.

“Whose?”

I glance up to meet her expectant stare. My stomach tightens.

“Both of them.”

My mom nods, I think a little bit in understanding my stress while also agreeing that yeah, Bryce didn’t come off too bad. Before we can get into it more, Wyatt scooches into the booth next to me and my dad slips in next to my mom.

“You two done signing autographs?” Mom teases.

Wyatt chokes out a short laugh before taking a bite of a roll.

“It wasn’t me they were interested in. This little shit is looking to take over my college records too.” My dad nods toward Wyatt, a bit of pride flashing in his eyes.

“I don’t know. I missed some games last year, so unless I play like I’m a Marvel Comics quarterback, I think your records will be just fine.” Wyatt’s being humble. He put up high enough numbers his freshman and sophomore seasons that even missing a few games late last season won’t set him back far.

I’m about to say so when Bryce suddenly appears at our table’s edge.

“Are you our server?” I blurt out. It comes out snarky, and my mother nudges my shin with the toe of her shoe.

Bryce chuckles awkwardly and I mutter a half-assed, “Sorry.”

“Honestly, I’m willing to wait tables if that’s what it takes for you to forgive me for my massive screw-up today.”

“Oh,” I utter, my gaze drifting to Wyatt, who’s focus is on his menu.

“You know the press loves a good joke. I’m sure it will blow right over,” my dad says, though he wasn’t actually there for it, and nobody laughed.

“Still, I shouldn’t have gone there. I’m sorry, to both of you,” Bryce says, holding out his hand for Wyatt.

My boyfriend’s eyes flit to his right and his jaw flexes before he eventually drops his menu and takes Bryce’s hand with a firm grip.

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