Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(46)

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It turns out, I didn’t think the whole “appearing on Lainey’s social media show” all the way through. There are some unexpected developments that I didn’t anticipate—and one of those developments hit front and center three days later, in the middle of AP Calculus.

I review Hailey’s answer on the board to a particularly challenging problem.

“Nice job, Hailey, you got it. You want your question now or later?”

She pushes her hair behind her ear. “I have a question that I want to ask now, but I don’t know if I can.”

I hold my hands up at my sides. “You can ask anything—that’s the whole point. Hit me.”

Her eyes dart over to Jason, then back up to me, and my spidey senses start tingling.

“So, my mom watches this webcast—Life with Lainey—it’s the one Jason’s mom does.” She smiles at Jay. “She’s a big fan.”

Jay nods with a chuckle.

“And the other day, she said she saw you on one of the live videos. And she said that you and Lainey are, like, having a baby. Is that true, Coach Walker?”

I scan their faces and can tell right off the bat who Jason confided in and who he didn’t. Quinn knew—along with Diego and Louis. Daisy, Min Joon, Martin and Keydon were in the dark.

Then I glance at Jason, to read how he’s taking this. And he’s not embarrassed, he looks more . . . contemplative. Waiting on me, weighing my words, my reaction—watching to see how I handle this. And more importantly—how I’m going to talk about his mom.

“Yes, it’s true. I’m having a baby. Miss Burrows and I are having a baby together.”

I’m smiling when I say it. Because every time I do, it feels a little bit cooler—more exciting and amazing.

“So are you guys . . . dating?” Hailey asks. “Like a couple?”

Small towns are awesome in a lot of ways, but they can also be brutal. Because opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one. And this is never more true than in a town where everybody knows everybody, and whispers can be deafening and judgements permanent and labels stick for life.

I’m not going to let anyone have a chance to give Jason shit about his mother, or to think badly of Lainey—not on my watch.

“Yeah, we’re dating. In a relationship. We met before Jason and his mom came to Lakeside.”

Quinn smiles and passes Jason an “I told you so” look that girls pull off so well.

“We’ve kept things private for a few months,” I say. “But now we’re going public. I care about her very much, and . . . she’s my vole.”

The kids stare at me.

“Your what?” Louis asks.

“My prairie vole—look it up, you’ll learn something. But the point is, we’re together and I couldn’t be happier.”

Jason gives me a subtle nod of approval and I feel like I just aced my first Dad-material test. Thank Christ.

“That’s so romantic.” Daisy sighs.

“It’s cool when old people get together,” Keydon says.

“Yeah,” Min Joon adds, “I read an article about this couple who met in the nursing home and got married a couple months before they both died. They were cute.”

“Hopefully, we’ve got a couple years left before the nursing home comes for us,” I reply dryly.

“Hold up, hold up.” Louis raises his hand. “Just because you’re with Jay’s mom, that’s not gonna like effect the curve or anything, right?”

They all await my reply with rapt attention, because the curve is right up there with Wi-Fi—one of the most important things in life.

“No guys, it’s not going to affect the curve.”

There are sighs of relief all around.

And Martin adds, “Good for you, Coach Walker. It’s nice to see you settling down. And congratulations on the baby.”

I make a mental note to email Mrs. Smegal—to remind her that she’s got a great kid.

And I make a bigger note to talk to Lainey—to let her know that as far as Lakeside is concerned, we’re a couple.

For the first time in almost a decade, I’ve got a girlfriend . . . kind of.

This is gonna be interesting.





Chapter Eleven


Lainey





“We have to date.”

I look up from the curtains I’m sewing for the nursery—a billowy cream-colored fabric that will have the effect of puffy clouds floating around the windows.

Dean looks young when he says these words—mischievous and playful—the kind of look a boy would wear if he was trying to convince a girl to cut class and make out behind the gym. Totally irresistible.

“Or . . . you know fake-date. Act like a couple. Pretend.”

“Fake-date? Sounds like the plot of a rom-com.”

Dean fingers the end of the curtain. “Maybe. But the fact remains we have to go out—show our faces around town, together.”

“It’s not like we’re hiding.”

“Yeah, but we need to act like a couple. Hit up the diner, the bagel shop, the movies—we have to hold hands, walk with my arm around you . . . kiss.”

My traitorous eyes go right to his mouth—that gorgeous, sinful mouth.