“So, I suppose I knew early on, what with my passion for Hello Kitty,” he said, and Jasmine laughed. “My parents even said they’d figured it out.”
I pictured Kellan being excited around a white cat with a pink bow and Coach being cool about it. Damn, imagine that. Considering what my stepdad’s reaction would’ve been made my jaw tighten painfully, and I quickly thrust the thought away.
“Aww,” I mocked. “Bet Kiddie Crawford was a cute kid.”
“Of course I was.” When he threw me a challenging look, I rolled my eyes, remembering how much we’d gotten into it last year. When he’d called me Mini Maclain and I acted like my manhood was being put on the line or something. Truth was, I didn’t know how to handle my teammates thinking any differently about me. Still couldn’t.
“Anyway,” Kellan continued, “for lots of people it’s not that obvious or easy.”
“Why is that?” I asked, trying to act like what he said wasn’t as detrimental as it felt.
“Well, you know Jaz’s story,” he said, and I nodded. She’d apparently realized she was bisexual when a new girl at school walked into her classroom and knocked her socks off, she was so pretty. The attraction had been visceral. That’s how it seems with Girard… So why haven’t I experienced this before?
“Some people repress it or don’t recognize it, or they’re too scared to admit it aloud,” Jasmine chimed in, as if reading my thoughts.
Meeting Jasmine’s eyes in the mirror, I felt right on the cusp of confessing my attraction to Girard—to a guy—but I stubbornly clamped down on it. It was just too fucking scary.
“Yeah, makes sense,” I said, then fell silent, losing myself in my thoughts.
Thankfully, they turned up the radio and started singing some ridiculous pop song at the top of their lungs.
“You should totally come clubbing with us sometime and really let go,” Kellan said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’ll pass.”
Kellan stuck out his tongue like a five-year-old, and I chuckled. The little shit was growing on me. The truth was, I’d also treated Donovan like crap last year, but he’d given me a pass, shrugging it off with that damned sunny disposition. I wished I could do the same. It would be better than holding a grudge against him just because he was luckier in life.
As we got closer to the bowling alley, my pulse began beating erratically. But hell, maybe Girard wouldn’t even be there? Of course he would be. Duh. Based on our last conversation at the hotel, he spent all his time at his family’s place of business when not playing ball or in classes. He would likely be inheriting it, even.
That heart-to-heart had been surprising, to say the least, and…nice. Maybe too nice. Afterward, I’d panicked again about my growing attraction, so I’d kept a cool distance through the subsequent practice and games. I was grateful that Coach hadn’t pointed out any of my slipups. Instead it was the infield who’d needed to take extra time to field grounders from Hollister at first base.
“So how will I be helping with this thing?” I asked as I spotted the glowing sign on the redbrick building. Girard’s Bowling Alley.
“Mostly we just need you to do the grunt work,” he teased. “For starters, it’d be cool if you could help carry the boxes I have in the trunk. They’re filled with stuff we need for the fundraiser.”
“Fine by me.” I’d do anything to keep myself occupied during this outing.
Coach Adams met us in the parking lot as we exited the car. We all walked inside together and were initially greeted by Girard’s father, whom Girard resembled with his dark hair and engaging smile.
“Dom is fixing the pins on eight. They’re always acting up.” He pointed over his shoulder to the bowling lanes. Dom. Dominic. I only knew him as Girard, but I liked the sound of his first name. “My wife is behind the snack counter and my daughter is around here somewhere too.”
I felt this sense of nostalgia wash over me. Family working together and actually liking each other, as was evidenced by Girard’s mom waving animatedly in our direction while she loaded some machine. A life I’d only had a brief glimpse of at an early age.
Girard’s father ushered us to a couple of tables near the pinball machines. The bowling alley was a cool space if a bit worn around the edges. Nothing that some upgrades wouldn’t fix. Still, even as it was now, it felt comfortable and cozy, like my favorite worn cap. It was definitely inviting to the students on campus, who no doubt saw it as something fun to do on a weekend night.
“Hey there,” Girard said, pulling up a chair. I hadn’t seen him since our last game—well, outside of my fucked-up dream sequence. He wore loose-fitting jeans and his hair looked a bit mussed, likely from him fiddling with the pins or whatever his father had been referring to. His amber-colored eyes swept over me, then zeroed in on my sweatpants. I shifted, hoping I didn’t pop a boner right then, which was so not a good idea in front of his family.