Page 120 of Coach
He rubbed the back of his neck, his ears now pink. “Jesus, Mike.”
“You’re part of the family now, man. Get used to it.” Mike beamed, then leaned closer, as if to impart some secret knowledge. “Just watch out for Matty. He’ll tongue you to death if you let him.”
I elbowed Mike in the ribs, failing to fight a grin. “Mike, can we maybe save some of the humiliation until after our first round of drinks?”
Mike waggled his brows. “What, I’m just welcoming the boyfriend properly.”
Boyfriend?
Oh, shit. Neither of us had used that word—or anything close to it. Hell, we’d just clasped hands for the first time. Okay, wild monkey sex aside, we hadn’t done anything with particular meaning.
Fine, monkey sex had meaning.
Sort of.
Still, we hadn’t used labels or terms or whatever the fuck “boyfriend” was.
I wanted to crawl under the disgusting table and stare up at a dozen years’ worth of dried gum I was sure to find beneath its top.
Shane groaned, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, desperately trying to escape his iron grip.
I shot Mike a look. “You. Behave. Now.”
Mike winked. “Never.”
With a helpless laugh that sounded more like a gagged hostage’s plea for help, I grabbed the empty chair between them and sat. There was no way in hell I was letting Mike sit beside Shane.
Shane lowered into the seat beside me, still shaking his head but looking far more amused than annoyed. I caught a little glance he gave me as he settled in, a soft flicker of something in his eyes that made my chest go warm.
Then he reached over, grabbed my hand, and wove his fingers with mine. I wanted to shout to the entire audience that Shane Douglas was holding my hand—and he might be my boyfriend, a little, sort of, in a wild-monkey-sex-hand-holding sort of way.
Yeah, the night was off to a ridiculous start.
And honestly?
Whether I was willing to admit it or not, I was loving every second of it.
Drinks arrived.
Drinks vanished.
More drinks arrived.
And so on.
By the time the warmup act finished hyping up the crowd, we were shitfaced and giggling like schoolgirls at anything anyone said. Hell, the waiter could’ve read the menu and we would’ve found it hilarious. It didn’t matter what material was used that night, we’d leave thinking it was the funniest show ever.
Shane hadn’t let go of my hand.
Not once.
The warmup act vanished behind the curtain.
The lights brightened for a moment, long enough for servers to deliver drinks and retrieve glasses.
Then the lights dimmed again.
A wave of electricity rippled through the crowd as a booming voice filled the club. “Ladies and gentlemen . . . give it up for MATT RIFE!”
