Blindsided (Fake Boyfriend #4)(7)

His mouth opens to protest, but he thinks better of it. “Got it.”

We get through practice without another complete screwup, which puts me in a better mood than this morning. But when we break for the day and hit the showers, Miller’s one of the first guys out the door.

Guess he’s gonna blow me off again.

I don’t know why I’m trying so hard with him when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to be friends now or whatever.

Teammates. I can handle that even if I’ll hate it. I want to clear the air with him so we can go back to working like an actual team. I’ve never had to doubt him until today.

Out on that field, he broke more than our friendship. He broke trust.

Yeah, it was only one tackle he let through, but it was a tackle I shouldn’t have had to worry about. Not with him. If he can’t even keep a teammate off me during training, how’s he supposed to do it during an actual game?

I dress slowly because defeat weighs me down. Miller doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, and I don’t know why that gets to me so much. Any other guy I’d write off and not care about, but when we were in college, we were so close it felt like all I needed was him. Girls came and went, and my parents and brother were back home in Denver. Miller and I both had a ton of friends, but they didn’t know the real us. They knew the football stars. The big jocks on campus.

I always thought Miller understood that, and what we had wasn’t your average friendship, but clearly he’s outgrown it. Or maybe we weren’t as close as I thought we were.

Outside the locker room, I hate the way my face brightens when I see him there waiting for me.

“What took you so long? Did you have to do your hair to make yourself pretty or what?” Miller reaches over and messes up my hair.

“Fuck off.” I swat at his hand. “We doing this?”

“Uh, yeah. Is it all right I invited Jackson too? I figure if you’re going to ream me for that tackle today, the new kid can see how much of a hard-ass you can be when we fuck up.”

I can’t talk about everything in front of Jackson, and Miller either knows this or thinks I only want to yell at him for the shitty practice.

Looking Jackson in the eye after the other day is gonna be fun.

It’s not strained between us, but it’s not exactly comfortable. I get the feeling he thinks it’s because he was with a guy, no matter how much I want to tell him it’s not. But if I do that, I have to explain I now feel weird around him because he and his boyfriend made something in my brain short-circuit and I haven’t been able to think about much else since it happened. Other than football. And Miller. But all of it seems to tie together in my head, and I don’t know why.

“We ready?” Jackson asks behind me, and I startle.

“Uh … yeah. Let’s go. Wait, where are we going? What’s good in here?”

“I know somewhere that won’t give us food poisoning,” Miller says.

“Sold,” Jackson says with a laugh.





Chapter Four





MILLER





“Hooters?” Talon asks. “You brought us to Hooters?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Truth is, it’s the most manly, most I’m totally into only chicks and not you place I could think of.

“Jackson’s gay, for one,” Talon says.

“They have awesome onion rings here. I’m good,” Jackson says. “And I’m starving.”

I brought Jackson as a buffer, because Talon should only stick to football talk if someone else is here. He wants to talk to me about what happened a few weeks ago and how blocking him at every chance is a dick thing to do, but the way I see it, there’s nothing to discuss. It’s not going to happen again, and he’s straight. Talking about it will only remind me of how much I fucked up by repeating old mistakes.

As we enter the restaurant and are assaulted by the scent of fried food and toxic masculinity, the hostess greets us with terms of endearment like “sweetie” and “cutie” and “hot stuff.”

When we’re seated at a table and finish ordering drinks from the waitress, a weird vibe settles between all of us. Talon refuses to look at Jackson, I refuse to look at Talon, and Jackson looks at the menu as if this is normal. Or maybe he can tell something’s up and wants to bury his head.

“So, uh, let’s hear it,” I say. “Rip me a new one for being distracted today.”

Talon looks between me and Jackson and then looks at the table as he casually says, “Don’t do it again.”

That’s all I get?

“That’s it?” Jackson asks. “I was expecting some drill-sergeant type shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m so disappointed in you, Talon.”

The waitress appears with our drinks, and as she puts Jackson’s down in front of him, she practically pushes her boobs into his face, which makes Talon and I snicker.

“As disappointing as that experience was?” Talon asks when she moves away.

Jackson takes a sip of Coke. “Eh. They’re just boobs.”

And that’s how I know I’m definitely bi and not gay. “Just boobs?”

“Do you know how productive I would be if I had that reaction to boobs?” Talon says. I almost laugh until he turns to me. “Is that why you were distracted today on the field?” His eyes narrow. “Like boobs in general or a certain pair? Are you seeing someone and didn’t tell me? Because that’s not cool after—” He slams his mouth shut and looks at Jackson again whose eyes are ping-ponging between Talon and me.