Page 2 of Overtime Goal
The boys were laughing their asses off when I made it back to the table. Packy pointed at me. “Was that how you wanted it to go, or should we start your injured reserve paperwork?”
Even Logan was chuckling. “He was out there doing God’s work. For about twelve seconds.”
Holky slung an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, bud. You died with honor.”
We spilled out onto the sidewalk half an hour later, a little drunk and way too loud. It was warm for April, which eased the pain of waiting while our Ubers were caught in traffic. Not long ago, leaving without a woman would’ve bummed me out, but tonight, I was glad it was just the guys.
Logan nudged me. “You okay after all that?”
“I’m fine.” I looked away, hoping he’d stop there, but I could feel his eyes on me. After a second, I lowered my voice. “It was all for show.”
“I know. What would you have done if she’d said yes?”
“Faked a seizure? Climbed out the bathroom window?”
He leaned closer. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
And then, like the universe was on a mission to fuck with me, someone bumped into me from behind. I turned, ready to snap, but she stopped me cold: tall, blonde, tight jeans, and a red top hugging everything like it was painted on.
“Oops,” she said. Her smile was all teeth and trouble.
“Um… no worries.” As a longtime flirt, I knew what was going on. A familiar spark, the all-systems-go signal, zinged in my chest.
But all systems weren’t go. The spark was there, but the actual desire to do something about it was nowhere to be found.
She and her friend laughed and walked on while I stood there like an idiot. The girl was hot. Like stop-traffic, billboard-model hot. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Packy tapped me on the arm. “You good? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Just worn out.”
He gave me a knowing grin. “There’s still time to go after Miss Dallas. She could give you a second wind.”
“Not tonight.”
Logan put a hand on my arm and guided me toward a car. “This is us, Riles.”
I climbed into the back, and he slid in beside me. He was reaching for the door handle when Richie Mason appeared. “Okay if I ride with you? Holky and Dog’s car is too small.”
“Sure,” Logan said. “Hop in.”
Goddammit. I’d wanted a minute alone with Logan. Instead, we’d be listening to Richie talk about his new baby all the way to the hotel. Not that I had anything against babies, but I wasn’t in the mood.
Logan handed me a banana and took the chair next to the couch where I’d slept. My spine popped as I sat up and tossed the blanket aside. By the time I’d unpeeled the banana, he was already halfway through his, scrolling through his phone and ignoring me.
He sat there with his thumb stalled on the screen while I ate. Then he snuck a quick sideways glance, one I knew too well. It usually came right before he told me to get my shit together. Needing a shield, I grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it on.
We hadn’t talked about what was in the way between us, but we hadn’tnottalked about it either. It was just there, like gravity and his weird obsession with bananas. Or the way he read poetry at night and pretended it wasn’t a big deal.
Meanwhile, I was struggling to figure out what the hell had happened in LA, or at least what it meant. I was in a tough place, feeling things that didn’t make sense, and I was hurting Logan because of it. As best friends, we needed each other.
He looked up and lobbed his banana peel at the wastebasket. It sailed in clean. “Swish,” he said, finally meeting my eyes.
We played a lot of one-on-one basketball, and as good as he was, I was better. I sized up the shot, calibrated my throw, and looked away as I launched my peel in a high arc. Another glance confirmed it had landed dead center.
“Swish,” I said. “No look.”
Logan tried hard to bite back a smile. “You looked.”
