Page 60 of Scoring Chance

“He’ll be onto his next conquest very soon,” Griffin says. “We’ve always wondered if you two would eventually hookup. You know, such good friends and all that. To be honest, I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I mean, Des is Des. Mr. Bachelor. Mr. Cool. You’ve seen the people he dates—sorry, hooks up with. They’re like…baristas who model on the side. Personal trainers with six-packs and no interest in talking about feelings.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re not his usual type.”

“I’m not anyone’s usual type,” I mutter.

“Hey.” Griffin’s tone softens. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I’m surprised Des would cross that line. I guess he figures you’re cool with it.”

“Yeah.” I gulp a lump back in my throat.

“Des doesn’t do family.”

I know. God, I know. But it still stings hearing it out loud.

Griffin bumps my shoulder. “Look, if it was good and you’re still cool, then no harm done, right? He probably thinks it’s fine. You know, casual. No big deal.”

That’s Des. Mr. Casual.

I force a smile. “Yeah. Right.”

But something inside me curls up at that.

Because it was a big deal. To me, at least. And maybe I hoped—just a little—that it was something more to him too.

“These tacos are amazing,” I say.

Des beams with pride as he stuffs another hard shell taco for his plate. The six of us sit around the dinner table. The kids gobble up dinner. Davy talks about practice and tryouts. It’s chaos. It’s messy. It’s loud. But it’s home.

I find Des above the din. He looks like he belongs here.

And it’s killing me that I know he doesn’t think he does.

Because when I picture something real, something long-term and rooted and warm, I picture this. I picture him. And that’s a problem.

Because the more I try to push the feelings down, the more they come clawing back to the surface.

“What did I tell you?” Des takes another bite of his homecooked meal and moans with exaggerated glee. (A different moan than the one from last night, thankfully.) “I told you to trust me.”

He winks at me.

And for a second—just one—he looks at me like maybe he’s wondering the same things I am. Like maybe it did mean something to him, too.

Then he looks away, and the moment passes.

But I still feel it in my chest. Like the echo of a shot that almost went in. And I’m scared as hell it’s gonna cost me more than just the game.

Yeah, I trust him. But I don’t know if I can trust myself.

18

DES

It’s been barely a day since the night Tanner and I crossed a line.