Page 35 of Don't Say You're Sorry

ADAM

“Dude, I suck at this game and I’m kicking your ass,” Xavi says, his knees bent, legs spread, his hands holding his controller between them.

I blink, focusing my attention back on the basketball game we’re playing on the PlayStation. I keep zoning out, thinking about Easton.

Where is he?

Xavi and Frankie got home a few hours ago. Frankie disappeared up to her room, and Xavi asked if I wanted to hang out. I said yes, grateful for the company. I’d been bored out of my ass all day while they were all at school.

Nate came back from practice a couple of hours ago—alone—and found me and Xavi in the den. He narrowed his eyes at us, and Xavi grinned. Nate stuck his tongue down Xavi’s throat before flopping onto his other side, his hand resting on Xavi’s thigh.

When I casually asked where Easton was, all Nate said was that he and Carter were going out. Out where? And why? I didn’t ask, though I’ve been dying to ever since he sat down and started watching us play.

Over Xavi’s head, Nate glances between me and the TV, then tips his chin at my players, who are once again doing nothing on the screen. “See your players? That’s pretty much how Easton played at practice today.”

I frown.

“What? Why?” Xavi asks, his brows dipped in concentration as he scores yet again.

“I don’t know. He couldn’t focus.” Nate shrugs. “Carter got on his ass for it, and Coach made them do suicides.”

My head snaps up at that, and I stare at the wall, thinking about hot dogs and first kisses and promises made. Promises Easton kept and I didn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m gonna be sleeping at your house and stealing all your food when we’re sixty. You’re gonna be sick of me.”

“Do you have beer?” I ask.

Xavi nods, eyes still locked on the game. “Yeah, it’s in the fridge. Help yourself,” he says, passing my controller to Nate.

“Do you guys want one?”

Nate shakes his head, and Xavi says, “No, thanks. I don’t drink. I’m a recovering addict.”

Nate watches me, waiting for my reaction, but I’m stumped on how to proceed. Should I not drink in front of him? He told me to help myself, but maybe he’s just being polite.

Widening my eyes at Nate, I silently beg him to help me out here. He says nothing, the asshole.

Snorting, Xavi says, “I don’t mind. Seriously. Help yourself.” He gestures to the door. “And get me a soda while you’re up, will you? Nate will have water.”

I nod and head for the kitchen, grabbing a beer, a can of Coke, and a bottle of water from the fridge. When I get back to the den, Nate’s winning, completely annihilating his boyfriend.

I pass them their drinks and sit, taking a swig of my beer before placing it on the end table next to me. When Nate scores again, Xavi snatches the controller from him and gives it back to me.

“This is why I don’t let you play with me,” he huffs.

Nate scoffs. “You let me play with you whenever I want,” he murmurs, trailing his hand up Xavi’s inner thigh.

Xavi smacks his hand away. “Stop. I’m trying to concentrate. I’m finally getting good.”

“No, you’re not. Adam’s just that bad.”

“Shut up.”

Laughing, I shake my head at them and try to focus on the game too. But when Nate drapes his arm around Xavi’s back and Xavi rests his head on his shoulder, my thoughts drift straight to Easton.

He and I used to play this game until our thumbs ached, sitting side by side on his bed, surrounded by piles of snacks and drinks. One night, after we started sleeping together, he pulled me in to sit between his legs, my back against his chest, his chin resting on my shoulder.

When he tilted his head and his breath grazed my ear, his lips brushing my lobe, I dropped the controllers and guided his hand down to my joggers. He slipped his hand inside, covered my mouth with the other, and jerked me until I came all over his knuckles.

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