Page 44 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“She says you’re acting like you’re the QSA president,” he explained with a wince. “Not that I think you are! But she said you were reckless. It’s obvious you pulled that stunt with the statue. And if you get caught, they’ll find out about the speakeasies. Then the club will be targeted and we’ll definitely be disbanded when school starts.”

Targeted?First Sawyer told me I wasn’t doing enough, and now I was doing too much? My chest deflated as I glanced back at the decorations I’d worked so hard on. “No one saw me paint the statue,” I assured him, my gaze drifting to the sign-up sheets I’d put on the table. “And at leastI’mtrying to save the QSA.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He let out a soft chuckle, and…Oh my god.He was smiling at me. “I really appreciate you stepping up. That’s why I’m here to help you.”

“But you’re against”—I waved a hand absently around the lodge—“all this.”

“I get it now, why you’re doing it. What it means…” His smile softened into something more intimate, more reminiscent of the quiet moments we’d once shared. “You’re more than useful, Zeke, and I’m sorry if I made you feel less than that.”

“Stop,” I said, unable to bear it. “Why are you being so…so…niceto me?”

He inhaled deeply and avoided my eyes. “Because I’m the Zasshole, okay?” His exhale was rough, long-winded. “I’ve treated you like shit because…because I was jealous of you.”

“Of me?” I couldn’t keep the bewilderment out of my voice.“Why?”

“You’re better than me at everything.” His face was getting splotchy again, and I knew he was being honest. “People always like you, even Derick had a thing for you. You were great at baseball, the top of our class, everything. Now you’re even better at being out and proud than I am—”

“No, I’m not,” I inserted, forgetting about the table setup. “I’m not good at that. At all. My father—”

“You don’t have to explain anymore.” He let out a timid laugh, almost a sigh. “I’m sorry I never asked if you were okay after you came out.”

My mouth opened, closed, opened again as my brain glitched. Went into static mode. Rebooted. “Thanks?” My voice quavered. Guests began to arrive, their softs oohs and aahs echoing through the banquet hall. “I probably wouldn’t have told you the truth if you had, seeing as we weren’t…friends. So, uh, don’t feel bad.”

“We are now, though.”

Are we?He’d said it as if it were fact. No trace of his usual sarcasm.

I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t know how any of this made me feel.

The speakers blasted Beyoncé, the bass thumping through my chest. I’d been dancing nonstop for the last hour while purposefully ignoring the QSA table. Cohen was sitting there, right in my periphery. The unlikeliest person to take my side. It should be Sawyer taking sign-ups and rooting for me. My best friend, who is supposed to understand me, who I shouldn’t have to explain myself to. Yet she wasn’t here, and I was relieved—and still weirded the hell out by how unsettled it made me—that Cohen had shown up instead. She’d only push me until I caved and apologized for what I did in the square.

And I wasn’t sorry at all.

Painting that statue had felt good, calling out Mayor Buchanan even more so. The fact that it had pissed him off gave me satisfaction. Sawyer couldn’t take that away no matter how insolent she was acting. If she’d actually shown up instead of being a rude-ass, she’d see that word was spreading about Pride. That double the amount of people had shown up tonight, including a shocking appearance from Damian Jones.

The ending notes of the song sounded, and I pushed into the crowd. Farther and farther away from the QSA table. My only job tonight was to be the King of Pride everyone expected me to be, dance instead of worrying—

“Omph,” I groaned and nearly fell as someone bumped into my side.

“Sorry,” the guy said, strong hands steadying me. “Hey, it’s you.”

I knew those hands. That voice too. “Mason?” I gasped as the next song started. A surge of giddiness made me smile. “You came!”

“Decided to stop by,” he said, raising his voice over the song.

“But I thought you couldn’t come?” I asked, leaning in close to his ear.

“Guess you heard about me being grounded?” His breath was hot against the side of my face as I nodded, and it reminded me of the way his skin had felt underneath my fingers. “If someone hadn’t snuck out and broken that gnome, I wouldn’t have been.”

“Sorry.” I forgot what I was about to say. His hands gripped my waist and pulled me close. “Uh…hi.”

“Hey,” he whispered back.

He pressed his body up against mine, hands roaming up my shirtfront one button at a time. We vibed for a moment as the song blasted, as my mind played a baseball game.He really didn’t Z-step me.Swing.Because he’s here.Swing.Even after everything I’d told him.Home run!

His warm palms wrapped around my biceps. “Really happy you made it tonight,” I said breathily.

“Yeah,” he replied.

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