Page 70 of Love is a Game

He stares at me. “No way. You were doing the deedthatfar back? How the hell did I—? How did I not—? Wait. Are yousure?”

“Yes, Brady, I’m sure it actually happened and wasn’t just my overactive imagination.”

Brady lets out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level stealth.” His grin fades into a frown. “But why? Why all the secrecy? Why didn’t you two ever just date, out in the open? Was it some kind of thrill, sneaking around?”

I exhale. “Yeah. Maybe that was part of it. And remember, Pen wasn’t allowed to date in high school. You saw how strict her mom was, right?”

Brady waves for another round. “Oh yeah, she was terrifying.”

He sits back. “But later?” he presses. “All those years hanging out, you didn’t want to make it public?”

I drain my beer, making room for the next.

“I guess we just got used to hiding it. Thought it was all about sex, that we didn’t have much else in common.”

Brady seems to ponder that. Then the beers land, and he lifts his head.

“And a couple of corn-whiskey shots.”

“What? No—” I grimace.

“Truth serum, buddy. Submit.” He levels me with a look. “You kept this from me all these years? You owe me big.”

We do the shots. Brady orders more.

“It’s true, I guess.” He picks up the conversation. “You two don’t have shit in common.”

That riles me. “Oh yeah? Apart from growing up in Blue Mountain Lake, moving to New York together, both studying fashion, working in the same industry—”

“I mean personality-wise,” Brady cuts in. “She’s fun-loving, spontaneous, energetic, witty, super creative…”

“If you’re about to say I’m the opposite of all those things, consider this session over,” I warn, only half-joking.

“Oh, right, yeah. I’m not saying that. Just that you’re so…corporate. Always on time. Neat. Plan everything out. A ‘don’t wrinkle my suit’ kind of guy.” He chuckles.

“‘Don’t wrinkle my suit’?” I echo, confused.

“Yeah! That time in the city, when we all piled into Pen’s little beatbox car because yours broke down, remember? We were late to her first-year fashion tech exhibition featuring her work.”

I shrug as Brady gets wrapped up in his story.

“A couple of her classmates were with us, and what was her name? The redhead with the chest—” Brady holds his hands out like he’s juggling fruit.

“I don’t remember.”

“She was gonna sit on your lap, and you were all like: ‘Don’t wrinkle my suit!’” Brady bursts into laughter. “This hot, racy chick, and you were worried about your goddamn suit!”

He lifts the next shot, and we down them. He taps the bar for another round.

“Don’t get me wrong—because then she sat on my lap, and the other girl hit it off with Mason. So no foul.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. It was because you and Pen were a thing at that point, wasn’t it? You were sleeping together, and you didn’t want to make her jealous!”

I silently lift my beer.

Brady lets out another low whistle. “This puts a whole new slant on everything. Whoa—should I feel, like,hurtabout this? Our whole past is a lie…” He shakes his head, mock-sad.

“Shit. Look over there!” I point toward the dining area. “Did you see that?”

“What?” Brady sits up, scanning the room. “What happened? Where?”

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