Page 19 of Touchdown, Tennessee
Fuck. Maybe it had been a mistake to invite him in here.
His gaze landed on the Rolex watch I had lying on my desk, next to my stack of textbooks that I hadn’t opened yet this semester.
“No, that’s not adisplay of my wealth, or whatever you’re probably thinking. It was a gift.”
“Nice gift.”
“It was my grandpa’s, before he died.”
For once, Gray didn’t clap back with some quip about that one.
Maybe that’s why he’d been staring at the guy in the nice suit at the diner.
Did Gray just hate any display of wealth?
I knew I needed to get better about controlling what happened when Gray was around, and the first thing had to be controlling the conversation.
I was a friendly guy.
Open and proud, too, about everything from being gay to my admittedly privileged family.
I just needed to act normal around him, and everything would befine.
“I want to know more about you,” I told him. “You said you aren’t close with your mom?”
“Not close with her at all.”
His answer was short, and he didn’t elaborate.
I remembered Luke mentioning something about one of his parents being “tossed in jail” earlier.
Must have been his mom, if his dad died long ago.
Fuck, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask about his family, either.
“Anyway. This is my room. You can write about anything in here other than my little pink teddy bear. Yes, he’s always on my nightstand, yes, he has a name, and no, I’m not telling you what it is.”
“This you and Luke?” Gray asked, completely ignoring what I’d said about Snugbug and nodding at a picture on my wall.
“That’s us,” I confirmed. “Picture is from a few weeks ago, after we beat everyone else’s asses in a billiards tournament.”
“Luke likes you.”
In the photo, Luke’s arm was draped around my shoulders. We’d both just had a great night at the Hard Spot, and we looked happy. Really happy.
“I was having abangernight. I was looking forward to this football season. It was before I found out about the stupid article being written.”
“You two look adorable next to each other,” Gray said.
Shit.
I noticed a detail in the picture that I hadn’t seen before.
There were scratch marks on my arm. It had been taken the day after my incident—less than 24 hours after I’d stupidly punched a stranger and potentially ruined my chances at the draft just from one bad mistake.
Gray wouldn’t know what it was from, even if he noticed it.
But he was like a bloodhound, sensing bad things anywhere.
