Risking the Shot (Stick Side #4) - Amy Aislin Page 0,69
stomach the size of a fucking ice rink. He took his feelings out on the tennis ball, whipping it at the wall with his racket until he was—for once—the last one standing.
Using his non-dominant hand.
Huh.
Feelings were good for something.
“Let’s chat.” Stanton swung an arm around his shoulders and led him back to the locker room.
“Huh?” Breathing hard, T-shirt clinging to his chest, Tay tried to shrug him off. “But I want to do another round.”
“Nope. You’re coming with me.”
In the empty locker room, Tay sat on the bench in front of his cubby and dropped his racket on the floor. “What’s up?”
Stanton stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He looked like a determined terrier. “You tell me.”
“What? I’m fine.” Tay found his bag and pulled a towel out to wipe his face.
“Uh-huh. Now look me in the eye and tell me that.”
Looking his best friend dead in the eye, he said, “I’m . . .”
One of Stanton’s eyebrows lifted in an annoying aha!
Slumping, Tay draped the towel around his neck.
“Talk to me.” Stanton sat next to him. “What’s going on?”
Tay rolled his eyes, snorting a self-deprecating laugh. Where did he start? “Nothing.” Everything. “Just dealing with some school stuff and . . .” He pursed his lips, debating with himself for a moment. “What do you think it means when the guy you’re dating takes eight hours to text you back?”
Stanton winced, making Tay’s stomach sink down to his toes. “I don’t know, man. You’re asking the wrong person. I’m the guy who kissed Xappa ’cause I thought he was flirting with me. Turns out he was just being nice.”
Tay’s own drama momentarily forgotten, he slow panned in Stanton’s direction. “Question: when and where did this happen? Follow-up question: how come I’m only just hearing about it? And third: do you . . . like Xappa?”
“It was nothing,” Stanton said with a shrug. “It was at the Christmas party. I was drunk and he called me an Uber. Walked me out to it and everything. Even opened the door for me and buckled my seatbelt ’cause I was laughing too hard.”
Huh. Xappa keeping an eye on his best friend’s little brother or something else?
“My drunk brain apparently took that as flirting,” Stanton continued. “’Cause I went and kissed him. He looked like I’d throat-punched him. Anyway. Back to you.”
He hadn’t answered Tay’s last question. Interesting.
Stanton bumped their shoulders. “Sorry things aren’t going well with your guy. Maybe the honeymoon phase is over?”
“No.” Redirected back to his own shit, Tay slumped and shook his head. “This is different. He’s being . . . distant.” He’d known things weren’t kosher between them before he’d left Dakota’s after the zoo, despite Dakota’s words that everything was fine. But he’d needed to get to the arena and hadn’t had time to stay to ask about whatever had made Dakota wall himself off.
Fuck. He should’ve stayed. Hashed things out. It felt like there was more distance between them now than there’d been before they’d ever gotten to know each other.
“Maybe he was busy when your text came in and he forgot to answer until hours later?” Stanton offered.
“Four times in a row?”
Sighing, Stanton wedged their shoulders together. “Sorry, man. I don’t know what to tell you. Did you ask him about it?”
“No. That’s not something I want to do over text just so he can ignore me forever. I’m being ghosted.” Not entirely, but it sure felt that way.
“Do you have plans to see each other again?”
“Tomorrow. We have a coffee date.”
That was all Dakota’s responding text from Monday had said. Sorry, I’ve got a full plate tomorrow. Back-to-back meetings. Don’t even have five minutes to eat. Coffee on Wednesday instead?
He’d added a little winky emoji, whatever that meant. As if it explained anything. As if it helped Tay understand what he’d done wrong.
“Talk to him about it then,” Stanton said.
“Yeah, I will.”
Problem was, Tay didn’t think he could wait that long.
After a loss to North Carolina, Tay headed out of the locker room toward the parking garage, phone in hand. It was late, almost ten, but he sent the text anyway.
Can I come by? Just for a few minutes? We need to talk.
Sitting in his car, he waited for a return message, bracing himself for a rejection. Or no answer at all. Dakota might already be in bed.
He wasn’t sure which was worse: rejection or silence.
However, miracle of miracles, his phone pinged with a response less than three