Page 57 of Fake As Puck
I close Instagram and set my phone face down on the table, feeling something that might be panic or longing or just plain confusion.
“You okay?” Tessa asks, looking up from where she’s changing Emma’s diaper.
“Yeah. Fine.”
She fights Emma to put her diaper on. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just work stuff.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Nope. All good.”
But I’m not all good. I’m sitting in my best friend’s kitchen, staring at a photo of myself with her brother, and I can’t stop thinking about the way his hand felt on my back or the sound of his laugh or the fact that he hasn’t texted me in five days.
Which shouldn’t matter.
But does.
A lot.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
14
I’m on my third set of deadlifts when Colton walks into the team gym and stops dead in his tracks.
“Jesus, West. What did those weights do to you?”
“Nothing,” I grunt, lowering the bar with more force than necessary.
“You’ve been here since seven AM. It’s nine-thirty.”
“So?”
“So normal human beings don’t spend hours in the gym unless they’re training for the Olympics or running from something.”
“I’m not running from anything.”
“You’re not?” he questions, settling onto the bench next to me, clearly planning to stick around until I crack.
“How’s the girlfriend?” he asks, because Colton has never met a topic he couldn’t make awkward.
“She’s fine.”
“Fine? That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Something more than ‘fine.’ You guys looked pretty good at the wedding.”
“We are good.”
“When’s she coming back to visit?”
“July,” I answer.
“That’s like three weeks away.”
