Page 57 of The Goat in the Bedroom
What if they were right?
What if everyone, Tempest, Sara Jayne, the PALs, his grandparents, his teammates, what if they all saw something I was missing?
The bathtub incident flashed through my mind. The way he looked for me after every good play. How he'd bypassed everyone to hug me first.
Gryff had been pulled away, and I glanced over at him across the bar, laughing with Flynn and some other players. He must have felt my stare because he looked up, caught my eye, and smiled that soft smile that was just for me.
My heart did something complicated.
“Hypothetically,” I said to Tempest, who'd appeared at my elbow, “if I wanted to test whether someone had feelings for me...”
“Oh my god, are you finally?—“
“Hypo. Thetic. Ally.”
Tempest studied my face. “Hypothetically, you could try something that would give you a definitive answer. Something that friends wouldn't do.”
“Like what?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”
I did know what. The idea was insane. Completely ridiculous. It would change everything.
Everyone kept insisting he was in love with me, and I needed to know. I needed to prove once and for all that we were just friends, that everyone was wrong, that the towel incident was just biology and nothing more.
I picked up the remainder of my strawberry margarita and drained it in one gulp. Then I turned toward the bar and found myself staring right into his eyes.
FML
GRYFF
Iwas standing at the bar talking to some of my guys from the O-line when I looked back to check on Artie and my heart stopped. Tyson Freeman, all six foot three of him, looking like a Swoosh ad in his perfectly fitted henley, was talking to Artie.
My Artie.
Who was wearing my fucking jersey, her hair down and wavy, cheeks flushed from margaritas and laughter. She looked fucking gorgeous, and Tyson was staring at her like he'd just discovered pumpkin spice lattes.
Fuck a truck.
I could have let them figure it out themselves. Could have turned away, grabbed another beer, pretended I didn't see what was about to happen. But that wasn't who I was. I was the guy who fixed things, who helped, who made sure everyone else got what they needed.
Even when it murdered my heart like a true crime documentary played over and over.
With a sigh that came from somewhere deep in my chest, I walked over to where Artie stood frozen, still staring at Tyson.
“Hey,” I said, touching her elbow gently. “So you met my man Tyson.”
“What? I wasn't… I was just…”
“Tyson's on the offensive line with me.” I pushed through the words like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Tyson, this is my roommate, Artemis Fraser.”
“The rugby player?” Tyson's face lit up. “Gryff talks about you constantly.”
And there it was... the blush. The real one, not the embarrassed flush she got when people assumed we were together, but the attracted, interested, possibility-filled blush of meeting someone new.
“He does?” she asked, glancing at me quickly before looking back at Tyson.
“All the time. He mentioned you're trying for the Olympic team?” Tyson extended his hand, and when she took it, he held on just a beat too long. “That's incredible.”
