from the cuff of the sweatshirt.
“He’s pretty into you, huh?” Naomi’s voice is dreamy. All I can do is laugh.
“I don’t know about that. Hayden and I just sort of happened. Like it was easy, you know? It’s nice to have someone to talk to about all of life’s shit.” My gaze slides over to the other D’Angelo while I say that, and I note the far more serious face Tory wears compared to his brother.
“Yeah, okay, but . . . tell me about his body, girl. Give me the details! Those boys are so freaking hot, and getting to kiss one is like winning the lottery.” Naomi is practically licking her lips, which . . . gross.
I shake my head with a soft laugh and glance from her back out to the floor where the guys are all stretching.
“It’s not like that with us.” My smile slips a little as that realization sinks in. Hayden’s attention slides to me a few more times and I make sure to prop my smile up every time, but eventually I can’t hold it anymore.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure all you do is hold hands,” Naomi teases.
“No,” I retort, scrunching my face. “We kiss. We kiss a lot. All the time.”
We kiss some.
“You’re telling me you haven’t gotten all up on that boy?”
I turn to face my friend, her eyes wide and chin dipped low as she waits for my answer. All I can do is shrug, which I know is not the kind of story she wants. I’m far from a prude, and I’m not uncomfortable talking about being with guys. I’ve slept with two boys, almost three. The third and near sex partner was my co-star in the yogurt commercial, and I had the sense to realize that every time I saw that commercial I would be reminded of him. We had zero in common other than being pretty on camera. His name was Jake. There was no future for Jake and Abby. Not that I have a future with anyone. Serious is not really my thing, and forever love is a myth. I have yet to get close to a family that is still whole. Marriages just don’t last forever. There’s an expiration date, and it always comes due at the shittiest time.
“Wow, Abby Cortez is taking it slow,” Naomi says, leaning back on her self-righteous elbows.
I furrow my brow because that’s not the case at all. At least, it certainly isn’t intentional. I just don’t really . . . want to move things fast.
“I’m just busy,” I respond, turning my head briefly to the side. I let my focus stray back to the gym floor, pausing on Hayden’s back, his perfectly toned arms, broad shoulders, long legs. The boy is built for hands to roam around his skin. His hair flops around as he jogs, and I know there are a dozen freshmen girls in this gym just staring at it. I should want to run my fingers through it and grab hold tight. Yet somehow, I just don’t. I think it’s because Hayden and I know each other so well. At least, we’ve known each other for so long, and that’s almost the same. I see the seventh grader underneath who got gum stuck in his braces and who spilled chocolate milk on my favorite backpack. That history, it’s part of the reason I like him so much. Hayden is a comfortable home in the turmoil of my life, and I might just be his safe place, too.
Lola comes back up to join us by the time the game starts, and I can tell by the way her mouth is set tight that she didn’t get much more than the one laugh out of tight-ass Cannon. I hold my hand out as she moves to sit on my other side and we squeeze each other.
“Don’t take it personally. I seriously think that boy might be broken. You are beautiful,” I say.
Her eyes soften and her bottom lip plumps with a pouty expression.
“Thanks, friend,” she says, hugging my arm as she slides into the space next to me.
A roaring thunder brings all of us to our feet, and soon we’re stomping on the bleachers to join the sound of our boys’ squad circled on the floor, all taking one knee and bending forward as they slam their palms against the hardwood and shout out the letters P-R-I-D-E. When they all jump up at once, the crowd hoots with them. I’ll