Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Coming to see my guy,” I replied with a smirk.
“Oh, um…well, good luck in the game or break a leg or something,” he said in this cute, awkward way.
Justin guffawed. “Pretty sure breaking a leg is not a good idea.”
Lark’s cheeks grew crimson as I laughed and pulled him to me. I hugged him so tight that I lifted him off his feet, which wasn’t hard to do. I almost swung him around, I was so happy to see him in the stands, but I knew he’d be mortified.
He tried to make games as much as he could and even brought Star and Pete with him one time, which was awesome. They couldn’t stay afterward to party in the clubhouse, obviously, but I didn’t care. Instead, I met them for dinner at Shorty’s, which was a nice surprise for Lark’s mom. She sent us home with warm doughnuts, of course.
“Everyone’s looking at us,” Lark muttered in my ear.
“Does it matter?”
“Sort of yes…sort of not,” he replied because despite being out, it was also hard for him to be the center of attention. And I got why.
But he was the center of my world, and I wanted everyone to know it.
“Because your boyfriend is a football god?” I teased as I set him down.
“And not cocky at all.”
We held hands a lot on campus, which was the extent of our PDA. We saved our more intimate moments for behind closed doors or in the bell tower, which was still our sanctuary, though the groundskeeper had nearly caught us one day.
Lark straightened his shirt as his cheeks turned even redder, likely because there were plenty of eyes on us. “Don’t you have a game to play?”
I nodded. “But first, do you know it’s our anniversary?”
His eyebrows scrunched together adorably. “Huh?”
“The anniversary of when we met as kids.”
“No way!” He knotted our fingers together, and I leaned forward to peck his lips. “You’re gonna break a lot of girls’ hearts.”
“Eh, I’m okay with that.”
Lark grinned because he secretly loved it when I made it clear I only wanted him.
“Anyway…” My hands shook as I unrolled the shirt I’d brought with me. Somehow this was more nerve-racking than the actual game. “I, uh, got this for you.”
His eyes grew adorably wide. “It’s a jersey with your number on it.”
“Will you wear it? I bet it’ll bring me luck.”
“I’d love to.” I helped him slip it over his shoulders, but it was so large it hung to his knees. “Maybe it’ll shrink.”
“It looks good just like that,” I said, and he grinned. “Gotta go. Wait for me after?”
“Of course.”
My parents looked stunned as I started down the steps—they had obviously watched the entire display. I bussed my mom’s cheek before jogging all the way down.
Mom and I had become a bit more affectionate with each other, more emotional too. But it wasn’t all positive with my parents. Dad was still standoffish, sometimes asking me probing questions about my sexuality in an effort to understand, he claimed, and I answered with all the honesty I could muster.
But I no longer let my parents control my moods or decisions, something my therapist was working on with me. And when Dad suggested we throw a fundraiser to raise awareness for childhood illnesses, I knew he was taking it all to heart. Mom was excited about the idea too. She loved to plan events and was good at it. Even suggested Dad give a speech.
We talked about it a bunch the last time Lark and I joined them for dinner—though most of my weekends were still spent with Lark and Star. But Mom had graciously extended a Thanksgiving dinner invite to his family, which had stunned me. His mom accepted, and though parts of the dinner were awkward for Lark, Star had won them over in the end, even getting my dad to color with her. I could tell they enjoyed having a little kid around again.
Coach, his arms folded, stared at me as I returned to the field for the start of the game.
“Don’t worry, Coach. I don’t have my head up my ass.”
He clapped me on the back. “Glad to hear it.”
When I joined my teammates on the bench, Bones said, “How do you know Lark didn’t want to wear my number?”
“Leave my man alone,” I said, and Spencer laughed.
The team’s mood was way better, especially with our winning record, but our chemistry took some work after I came out. Not that they treated me that differently in the locker room, but some of them didn’t seem to know what to say. But once they saw that I was essentially the same person—and maybe a bit more comfortable in my own skin—we were able to get into a good rhythm again on the field.
By the end of the fourth quarter, we were ahead by two touchdowns. But when they held us at the five-yard line, it was time for Spencer to kick a field goal and seal our lead. After he put three points on the board, our fans were on their feet, cheering for us. Glancing in that direction, I immediately spotted the most attractive guy in the entire crowd—and he was wearing my jersey.