Page 24 of The Late Hit
Football and barbecue are two of my favorite things.
Although Brynn is starting to make her way higher on my list. Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been at the top of my priorities, but lately she’s consumed more and more of my headspace. The girl drives me wild.
Can I keep these feelings to myself? Does she feel them too? Does her body spark with awareness when I walk into the room like mine does to her? Do her fingers twitch with the need to touch me when we are sitting side by side? When she closes her eyes at night, does she picture me lying next to her? As her hand trails down her tight stomach, slipping inside her—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration snapping me from my thoughts. But I don’t pull my phone out. Instead, I sit down at the bar and pull out my food, forcing myself to stop thinking about Brynn lying in her bed.
As I dive into the perfectly tender ribs, my phone buzzes again. Knowing it’s probably my parents, I ignore it. But I secretly hope it’s a feisty blonde.
What’s with you, Boyd? You’re like a damn teenage girl with her first crush.
Brynn isn’t my first crush, she’s far from it, but she’s the first girl that I can picture having a future with.
Whoa, where’d that thought come from?
I don’t date. Ever. I’ve never had a serious girlfriend. Football has always been my first love. But Grant’s parting words come rushing back to me like a tidal wave.
Don’t let her slip through the cracks.
What will I do if she starts dating? What if I blow the only chance I have with her? But what if I take a chance, and she doesn’t feel the same way? Will our friendship be forever changed? Why is she avoiding me?
This week we had a breakthrough, and she actually showed some of her cards, but there’s still something she’s not telling me. Laying in her bed, trying to cheer her up, I could tell there was more on her mind than going home the next weekend.
Stabbing my fork into the pulled pork, I take a huge bite. The smokey flavor and rich barbecue sauce explode in my mouth. Goddamn, this is good. I take the next several minutes going from pork to brisket to ribs before diving into my sides. Good barbecue requires good sides: homestyle macaroni and cheese, green beans and ham, and sweet spoonbread. Nothing better.
Pushing the empty containers aside, I pull my phone out of my pocket and thumb through the notifications. Three missed calls—one from my dad, one from Grant, and one from Brynn, too many social media notifications, twenty-two texts—friends and family congratulating me on the win, and five text messages from Brynn. Brynn’s are the only ones I care about at the moment, the others can wait. Tapping on her name, I bring our conversation up.
I type out a quick reply, taking a sip of my water.
Before I even get a chance to sit my phone down, it’s buzzing with multiple texts. I chuckle at the onslaught of messages. Brynn is the short-multiple-text sender, rather than the long-paragraph sender. And the girl gets pissed with one-word answers. I learned that the hard way.
Stuffing my mouth with the last bite of spoonbread, I shove off the bar stool and head to the third-floor game room to park my exhausted ass down for endless hours of football.
And that’s how I spent my remaining Saturday and all of Sunday.
Sunday night, I fell asleep with an assortment of images of Brynn doing things best friends don’t do.
Fuck, I’m screwed.
“BeforeyougotoChi-Town, we are having a girls’ night,” Macy announces during breakfast Wednesday morning. The three of us are gathered around our kitchen table, drinking coffee and munching on our breakfasts—a blueberry muffin for Chloe, waffles for Macy, and cereal for me.
Is there anything better than cereal? Like, it’s the perfect meal.
Need breakfast? Cereal.
Need a snack? Cereal.
Don’t want to cook dinner? Cereal.
But none of that healthy shit. Give me the Frosted Flakes with another teaspoon of sugar.
Taking a heaping spoonful of the sugary goodness, my head snaps to Macy.
“Ready to come up for air from dear ol’ Gregg?” I ask around a mouthful of cereal, milk dribbling from my mouth.
“Chew first, you heathen.” Macy tosses me a napkin. “And, as a matter of fact, Gregg is busy, and I miss my girls. It’s not my fault you don’t know what it’s like to be in a relationship.”
Oof, that stung. Because, just like Quinton, my closest girlfriends have no idea about my last relationship. The last time I loved someone.
