Page 16 of Sliding into Love
I know the answer before North replies.
“None. Our parents died a few years back. Younger sister in a car crash before that. It’s just us two.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to have to move back here. He’ll need me, won’t he?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I do think it would be ideal. If not forever, than at least until he gets back on his feet. Is your job able to let you move? If not, there can be a spot for you with the team.”
Royce chuckles. “You’ve really got to stop reading my mind. What do you do for a living, North?”
“Data entry. I’m a computer guy. So really, I could work anywhere even if my job doesn’t allow the remote option.”
I pull a business card from my wallet. “Here’s my information. Call me as soon as you know anything. It may not be the data entry you’re used to, but as soon as you want a spot, it’s yours. The Jays take care of their people.”
North wipes his tears away, then pockets the card. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to us.”
We leave after that, neither of us all that eager to wait in the room after the offer. North needs time to think. And if Tollide wakes up to us there, he might panic more thinking we were trying to cut him from the team. No need to stress out the already broken man.
Royce stays quiet the entire way back. When we reach the office, they go back to watching me work. It’s unnerving after the morning we had. Too bad for me, there’s nothing I can do or say to make this less awkward.
If only“Hey, I’d really love to get to know you on a more intimate level and hopefully you’ll forgive me for being an ass in the past”could work as a seduction technique. Yeah, right!
Before
“What the hell isBaby Bellport wearing today?” Clark grumbles from beside me.
We're supposed to be stretching to prepare for today’s practice. Since we’re both going to be starting on the varsity lineup—which never happened for sophomores—we have to bring our A-game.
I scoff. “It can’t be any different than any other day. You’d think you’d be used…”
My voice trails off when I finally look up and over to where Royce is standing. It takes everything in me to keep steady. I can’t give any type of outward reaction that might alert Clark to what I’m really thinking.
According to my teammate and occasional friend (when he’s not being a jerk to me), Royce Bellport is below us. Never mind their family has more money than the rest of the school combined or that girls flock to be around them all the time.
No, Clark doesn’t care about any of that. In his opinion, Royce doesn’t “fit” into what he expects.
Ever since they announced their change of pronouns to the class, Clark’s become even more of an asshole towards them. I usually ignore it because it’s not my place to interfere. But even I can tell his reactions are ridiculous.
Why does it matter what someone wants to be called or what they wear?
Ok, well for the clothing bit it matters a little more today. Because the outfit Royce is wearing is fucking with my head.They’ve paired an old band tee with a short plaid skirt and a pair of Chucks. It shouldn’t work, yet somehow it does.
“Yeah, I know, right?” Clark’s snotty voice interrupts my assessment of the person across the field from us.
Shaking my head, I lean forward again. “It doesn’t matter. They’re here to take pictures. Didn’t you spot the camera? Let’s not make a big deal or you won’t end up with a feature in the paper.”
While Clark and I went after our dreams of becoming MLB superstars, Royce has pursued journalism as their passion. All three of us have advanced to the highest levels we can go for now, which is why I think the guy beside me should really let this grudge go.
Shouldn’t we be respecting Royce for gaining a coveted editor position for the school paper just like we’ve nabbed our varsity playing spots? Are these not similar enough things?
I guess not since Clark does not let it go. Instead, he grumbles through warmups and most of practice. I’m glad we play far enough apart I don’t hear his bitching every second. Still, the times he does manage to sneak up beside me to complain are far too many.
As we near the end, I find Royce kneeling beside me on the ground. I startle at their sudden appearance.
“Shit. I didn’t see you.”
They laugh. “That’s the whole point of being quiet. Now go back to focusing on the game. I’ve got a great angle with the sun right now, and I need this shot. You’re going to be front cover material.”
I shiver at their words. It’s involuntary, and I pray to all there is they don’t mention it. How am I supposed to explain the mixed-up emotions that come when they’re around? I can’t even figure them out myself, despite spending hours analyzing them when I’m alone.
“Got it,” they whisper a few seconds later.
