“Okay,” I repeat the words against him. I say them again, hoping maybe, after enough times, we’ll both believe this. “Okay.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You can’t tell anyone.”
That’s the last thing Lucas said to me before he fled out my window, leaping from the eave to rush across the lawn toward his house.
He didn’t say why, but his eyes expressed how important it is that this thing, whatever it is, stay between us and nobody else. I think maybe he’s worried about Ava or his dad saying something to interrupt whatever we have.
What do we have?
Besides secrets.
I’m going to drown in secrets.
Something has to give, and having my best friend spend her Saturday afternoon with me at work while I dole out shoes for league bowlers is making it incredibly hard not to break my promise to Lucas. There are so many things I haven’t told Abby, and she and I don’t keep secrets. We don’t lie. I’m not supposed to lie to anyone—my mom, Lucas, Abby. I may as well add Tory to that list because I don’t like lying to him.
I don’t want to stop kissing Lucas, or do something that might risk him ever kissing me again. I can’t tell Abby about last night, not yet. Not the kiss. But I can maybe tell her about some things. I need someone to tell.
“I caught Lucas fighting with his dad last night,” I spill out while I refill my friend’s Dr. Pepper. I swear the only reason she comes to visit me at work is for free sugar.
“Tell me something new,” she says, her eyes fluttering with sarcasm. I slide the full cup of soda over to her and she puts her lid back on. Her straw is pink on the end from her lipstick.
“Yeah, I know, but I mean, I heard a lot of their argument. I guess Lucas wants to go to MIT?” Her eyes blink wide as her lips let go of her straw.
“Lucas Fuller is smart?” She coughs out a laugh.
I chuckle.
“Yeah, I know, it’s a surprise. He’s like, maybe fourth or fifth in our class?” I don’t know why I’m being vague with details. He’s fourth. I know because I checked.
“Huh. Who knew?” she says.
I did.
“That must drive you wild. Your hottie crush also has a brain!” she cackles out and leans back, spinning once on her stool.
“You have no idea,” I say, more truth to those words than she realizes.
“So, what’s the big deal? The Fuller kid is smart and wants to build rockets or some shit, and they, like . . . don’t want him to do that?” She goes back to taking a long suck on her straw. She’s already gulped down a third of her refill.
“He got an offer from Tennessee,” I add.
This time, she puts the drink down. Abby was a cheerleader our freshman and sophomore years, and she knows football. She quit cheering after she broke her wrist, but she’s still a diehard for the game. Notre Dame football used to be a holiday in her house, every Saturday. Her dad played. Her mom cheered. And now that they’re divorced, Abby has to sneak-watch the games because her mom can’t stand the sight of the blue and gold. All of this to say, she gets how big an offer is to play at Tennessee. She also knows that’s where Lucas’s dad played—until one game knocked him out of the sport forever.
“Damn!” She shakes her head as her gaze drifts off with thought.
“Yup.” I nod.
A few league teams wrap up their games and deliver their shoes to the counter. I hate getting backed up with racking shoes, so I set them all on the floor to spray the insides, coughing from the cloud of fumes. When I stand again, it’s no longer my best friend sitting on the other side of the counter from me—it’s my best friend, and Lucas Fuller, and both D’Angelo twins.
Shit.
“Maybe Mabee, what’s up?” Tory leans over the counter with an arm stretched out to give me a sideways hug. I walk forward, stiff and unsure how to navigate this, reach around and pat him on the back while his arm encircles me. I look to Lucas mid-embrace, and his gaze traps mine, not letting go until Tory’s hand is no longer touching my skin. His look is possessive, and if anyone else were looking at him, our secret would be blown.
I’d be fine with that.
“Nice game Friday, Luc.” Abby gives me a sideways glance and a short wink, and the moment she starts, I regret not giving her every single detail of every secret I hold. As far as she believes, Lucas still treats me like shit and feels pressure about football from his dad. It’s the perfect storm for my best friend to enact a little vengeance on my behalf.
“Fuck off, Abby,” Lucas fires back. He takes a seat on the stool farthest from the rest of us and shifts his gaze to me. His face is full of indifference, and it hurts a little to see. I can’t tell whether he’s acting or changed his mind.
“Can I get a water?” He nods toward the tap.
I saunter toward the ice machine, grab a cup and scoop ice while my eyes hazily study him.
“It’s a buck for the cup,” I say.
Abby titters and takes a long drink through her straw until her cup is empty enough for her to make the slurping sound.
“Ahh,” she says, tapping her cup on the counter. “Some of us get freebies.”
A short laugh escapes my nose, and my cheeks burn a little with guilt. From this new perspective, it’s funny to watch my friend stick up for me.
Lucas cocks his head to the side and shifts his eyes to glance harshly at my friend, but leans to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He mostly wears all black, black jeans, black hoodie, and his black End Zone ball cap pulled low and shading his eyes. It makes his glare more ominous, especially when light finds a way in to illuminate his blue eyes from the shadow. I can’t stop staring at his mouth. He’s wearing a hard expression, so his lips don’t stretch with the fullness of his smile, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining it. That smile played out against mine only hours ago. I kissed that smile until I was raw.
Wallet in hand, he slips out his debit card and tosses it so it slides toward me on the counter. I slap my palm down to stop it, and pick it up, checking the name against the person who sent it to me.
“Lucas A. Fuller,” I accentuate his middle initial, knowing it stands for Andrew. I set the card back on the counter and flick it back toward him with my index finger. He catches it in his lap. “I’m afraid I can only take cash.”
I shrug and give him a wry smile, pulling the lid from the cup I just filled so I can threaten to pour out his water. I’m partly playing along and half sincere in pushing him, and the mix of it all makes me drunk on feelings. Why can’t we tell people that we’ve found our way back? Why can’t I kiss him again here and now?
His mouth ticks up on one side as the water trickles from the cup. I think he doesn’t think I’ll go through with this. A cup of water isn’t a very big deal, but it’s the only deal I’ve got. If we’re playing the part of hate-mates, I’m going to make it convincing.
“Ah ah,” he says, lifting his palm slightly. He tucks his card back in his wallet and leaves his grinning eyes on me as he feels around for something else. He pulls a folded receipt from one of the compartments, then digs into the next slot to slide out a folded up dollar bill. When it falls on the counter, though, a golden wrapped condom packet slips out with it. My eyes flit to that first, as do his.