Page 21 of False Start

EIGHT

KIT

“Paintball? Seriously?”I rolled my eyes at the back of Derek’s head as he rifled through his closet in search of clothes he didn’t mind destroying. “We’re leaving for the rally tomorrow! Bright and early!”

Twelve hours, actually. Our bags were already packed, sitting in the hallway and ready to grab on the way out the door at dawn.

He ducked under his winter clothing hung on cedar hangers, his voice muffled by the layers of wool and down. “You can come.”

I blinked, recoiling from the closet and wondering where the hell my best friend had gone. “Why would I want to go get shot at with Trent and his dumb football buddies? Do you even hear yourself?”

I wasn’t sure which offended me more: that Derek was ditching me the night before the rally, or that he thought I’d want to play paintball.

“One football buddy,” he said like it made a difference as he emerged from the closet holding a tie-dyed shirt from an art class we took years ago. He pulled it on, the purposely stained shirt matching his paint-stained jeans.

“I don’t care if it’s one football buddy or a million. I’m not going out into the woods to get shot by you and your dumb jock friends.”

My eyes flitted back to the hallway, to the checklist resting on my bag and all the unchecked boxes that needed to be addressed before the morning.

Derek’s blue eyes followed mine to the list. He slipped past me, picking up the paper. “We won’t be out late. I’ll even stop for snacks on the way home.”

I sighed, his pleading eyes softening my objections. I should let him go. Or hell, be a good sport and tag along. But getting shot in the woods by a bunch of muscle-bound football mouth breathers wasn’t my idea of a good time. And I couldn’t help but want my best friend to pick me over paintball.

“Or,” I drawled out the word with a fake smile, “you could stay here and watchBeacheswith me.”

He frowned. “Not nice.”

“I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And you will.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a comforting hug. “For five whole days in a car. But I want to go do something physical tonight. Try to burn off some energy before we stuff ourselves with gas station snacks.”

“Crying burns a lot of calories.”

“You sure I can’t convince you to come?”

I shook my head with a sigh. “Be safe.”

Derek pulled on a faded flannel overshirt and grabbed his wallet, pausing at the door with a sad look. I could convince him to stay. One more pout or objection, and he’d cave. Instead, I waved goodbye, wishing him luck on his evening of male bonding on my way to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

In preparation for our trip, neither of us had gone grocery shopping, and inside the fridge, I found a wrinkly apple, some cheese, and baby carrots. Charcuterie dinner. I fixed a sad plate,slightly regretting that I hadn’t asked Derek about their dinner plans.

Textbooks littered the kitchen table, and I pushed them aside, clearing off enough space for my food and ignoring the small pang of guilt when I pulled out my phone rather than opening a book. Technically, I’d finished the medical laboratory science program. I’d turned in all of my assignments, and all I had left was a graduation I had no intention of attending and a certification test. The five-day road trip would be plenty of time to let everything I’d learned percolate in brain my before I sat down to take the test.

Sure, my job would be the same mix of late nights, weekends, and holidays, but I’d get paid enough to afford my own apartment if Derek left me for a boyfriend. Or one of his new, obnoxious football buddies.

Jealousy had always been one of my worst traits, and I pushed back the feeling for the millionth time since I’d met Trent. Every other season, the kickball team provided relief from Derek’s constant requests for company to bars and shows and clubs. Derek had three nights a week of practice and post-practice drinks. And what did I care who he hung out with after the games?

Until this season. Or, rather, until Trent.

I finished my dinner and curled up on the couch, searching for a period drama that would make Derek roll his eyes and hide in his bedroom. A steamy regency piece with a princess and a samurai caught my eye, and I snuggled under a blanket for the next two hours, transfixed by the show.

My eyes fluttered open from a light sleep at the sound of my phone. The familiar jingle coupled with the vibration scooted the phone off the armrest and onto the floor. My forehead smacked the coffee table as I groggily attempted to scoop it up.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Is this Katherine Holden?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, checking the phone number. A local area code, but not a number stored in my phone. Probably a telemarketer. I shouldn’t have answered. “Who is this?”

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